<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Place That Never Moves by strawberriesandtophats</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725457">A Place That Never Moves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats'>strawberriesandtophats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>No such things as stability (only flux) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Discworld - Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Bisexuality, Canon Disabled Character, Eating Disorders, Explicit Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Lingerie, M/M, Mobility devices and pain management, Multi, Polyamory, Recovery, References to Depression, Sam Vimes is always the little spoon, So much gender-fuckery, The Trousers of Time (Discworld)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:27:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a hum in the air, the sense that something was ever so off-kilter. Sam Vimes was running out of breath and out of luck.</p><p>He’d always known that it would come to this.</p><p>Or: Sam Vimes travels to another leg of the Trousers of Time, Vetinari looks great in dresses and Sybil has a grand time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Lord Downey/Havelock Vetinari, Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>No such things as stability (only flux) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warnings for disordered eating and spiraling depression.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started with a hum in the air, the sense that something was ever so off-kilter. Sam Vimes was running out of breath and out of luck.</p><p>He’d always known that it would come to this.</p><p>The murderer was just ahead of him on the rooftop, leaving a trail of loose tiles and delighted laughter as Vimes’ boots slid in the rain as he ran, barely any air getting into his lungs as he launched himself forwards anyway. He’d almost fallen off the roof several times by now, his grip on the crossbow barely there.</p><p>And above them, thunder screamed.</p><p>A magical storm, Ridcully had warned him during the meeting this morning in the Rats Chamber. Vimes had nodded absently, hoping that they’d have caught this murderer by then. He’d not thought of the rain hitting him so hard that he was soaked through in seconds, the wind ripping at his feet and cloak until he stumbled.</p><p>He shouldn’t have been up here in the first place, of course. Should have sent Angua or Carrot, or a number of other officers. Vetinari had told him as much, just this morning. And with that schoolteacher harmonic in his voice, which had made Vimes feel smaller and stupider than even on the bad days, where he knew that he wasn’t up to speed.</p><p>That had made the familiar spark of anger and rebelliousness at being given orders flame up, bright and hot. And he’d let it, instead of stomping it out and delegating.</p><p>He could already see the look on Vetinari’s face when they’d meet again, that carefully neutral expression not quite masking the impatient sigh and the way he’d turn away from Vimes.</p><p>Vimes wanted to scream at the criminal, to tell him that he was surrounded, to once again inform him that he was under arrest. So that this would all be a thing in the past, over and done with.</p><p>But he could barely breathe.</p><p>All around Vimes, lightning lit up the sky and thunder roared.</p><p>All around, other officers drew closer to get nearer to the murderer.</p><p>So, he used the last of the strength in his legs to jump across the rooftop, inhaling rain and soot, and hoped that it would get him across.</p><p>Instead there was a light that tore away everything else and a sound that swept Vimes’s consciousness away like a rug, if just for a moment. His body did not land in a crumpled heap on the cobblestones, where he’d have to be scraped off and sent to the hospital.</p><p>The crossbow dropped to the ground, splintering on the cobblestones.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He landed in a heap in his office at Pseudopolis Yard, banging his hips and knees and elbows on the floor.</p><p>Vimes took in a shaky breath, forcing his eyes open.</p><p>He was completely naked, the cold air from the window sinking its claws into him and raising goosebumps all over.</p><p>Bits and pieces of his armor clattered on the roof above, the remains of his cloak fluttering in the air. Red thread fell like snow.</p><p>He took in his immediate surroundings, cursing his eyesight for having worsened to the point where Sybil and Vetinari were both making unsubtle comments about reading glasses. He’d even found a pair of them in his nightstand the other day.</p><p>His desk looked just the same as the one he’d left behind in his office this morning, so that was a plus. Perhaps the storm had not moved him in time, but only in place?</p><p>And if it had moved him in time, it better have not moved him too much.</p><p> </p><p>“Ye gods,” Vimes grumbled, trying to get some air into his lungs. He raised himself to his knees and then pulled himself up by gripping the edge of the desk. If nothing else, he wanted to keep standing.</p><p>Fred Colon was staring at him from the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand and a report in the other. Tea dribbled down to the floor.</p><p>“Sir?” Fred Colon said, his voice high and alarmed.</p><p>“Hello, Fred,” Vimes managed.</p><p>Fred motioned to the spot where Vimes appeared and then down to the floor, his face the picture of helpless confusion. He closed the door behind him, blocking it for good measure so that if anyone wanted to barge in they would have to go through Fred first before they’d be confronted with the sight of Vimes-sans-uniform.</p><p>“I was chasing a murderer just now,” Vimes told him.</p><p>Fred nodded, grabbing onto this new information like a drowning man would latch onto a rock in the middle of a deadly river. There were scars on Fred’s face that hadn’t been there that morning, his hair shorter and a pair of red glasses on top of his head.</p><p> “There was a magic storm,” Vimes said, because it was easier to just get this over with. “I’m not from around here, I think. Won’t linger, hopefully, just visiting the place until I can find some way to get me back.”</p><p>“Magic storm got you here?” Fred said. “And took away all your clothes?”</p><p>“That’s right,” Vimes said, not moving from behind the desk. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just go get dressed.”</p><p>“I’ll make you a cup of tea, sir,” Colon said, saluting. Then he turned around and left.</p><p>The door closed carefully behind him.</p><p>Some things always stayed the same, fundamentally. Even if everything else was in a state of constant change.</p><p> </p><p>Vimes made his way to the trunk by the wall where he usually kept his uniform, glad to find that there were some fresh drawers there as well as clean socks. He got dressed, noting the drawers were a bit lacier than his own. But that might just be the fashion around here, he supposed.</p><p>He finished putting on his spare uniform, the breastplate not as dented as the one he had the one back home, the linen shirt not as old. But the boots were worse, he noted happily, the sort with the cardboard soles.</p><p>Then he sat himself down behind his desk, trying to read through at least some of the paperwork to figure out what was going on before anyone else could get the chance to see him. After about fifteen minutes of skim-reading about unlicensed thieves, solved cases and repair work on various staircases and new hires, he looked up at the sound of someone climbing the stairs at top speed.</p><p>Vimes breathed out, relaxing his shoulders.</p><p>The truth was that when a person is stranded in a world so close to their own, and feeling displaced and afraid, they deal with it by finding their team. Or by making one.</p><p>And he’d always had a built-in one that came with his job.</p><p>Judging by where he’d landed and how Fred reacted, things were hopefully much the same over there.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around the room, habitually looking for evidence of how different this life was on a more personal level.</p><p>The rug on the floor was a tasteful blue one, with no stains on it. His overstuffed and shabby chair had been patched up, clearly by himself if he was any judge of the sewing. A half-eaten fruit salad in a bowl stood on the desk beside a slice of cheese-and-onion pie.</p><p>There were actual shelves above his filing cabinets, showing at least one iconograph of him, Sybil and Vetinari.</p><p>There were wedding rings on all their fingers.</p><p>And then there was another iconograph of two kids, dressed to the nines and making faces at the camera.</p><p>Vimes shook his head, ridding it of thoughts of a triangle marriage, where Sybil shared him with Vetinari. There was no reason to jump to that conclusion, none at all. It was far more likely that the Patrician had happily married someone educated and elegant and all that, like Lord Downey. That he’d be the kids’ godfather in over here too, teaching them horribly advanced Hide-And-Seek and Thud and bribing them with sweets sometimes.</p><p>Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be here any longer than a few hours. Then he wouldn’t even have to interrupt anyone or anything at all. He’d just pay the wizards and the monks a visit.</p><p>He’d explain what had happened to him, and then they’d find a way to fix this mess.</p><p> </p><p>The door was forced open, no knocking or hesitant footsteps. Vimes stood up, willing himself not to reach for the baton on the stand in front of him.</p><p>Angua strode right up to him, her short hair sweaty and sticking to everything. Her eyes were narrowed and for a split second Vimes braced himself to be pushed against the wall. Cheery followed behind her, eyeing him curiously.</p><p>“Captain Angua,” Vimes said. “And Sergeant Cheery.”</p><p>“Hello, sir,” Cheery said. “We heard you walking around and decided to pay you a visit-“</p><p>“You’re not our boss,” Angua said. “You smell all wrong and there is no way that you’d be able to walk around after what went on last night.”</p><p>“You look different, too,” Cheery added.</p><p>“Right,” Vimes said. He hadn’t taken much of a look at his reflection in the mirror, just glanced at his closely shaved hair and washed his face. “Better or worse?”</p><p>“Um,” Cheery said, glancing at his scarred hands.</p><p>“That bad, is it?” Vimes asked.</p><p>“Did you travel through time, or something?” Angua continued, looking him up and down.</p><p>“Something like that,” Vimes said. He tried to grin at that, as if he was happy that he didn’t have to hide that from her. But a part of him was disgruntled. There would be no slipping into the Watch house and feeling in his element as he ordered people around and went on patrol, like he’d done when he’d been sent back in time. His officers weren’t the frightened and looked-down on officers of the Night Watch, in a city that was dangerous and hostile mess.</p><p>They knew who he was, so there was no need for aliases or manipulating them into raising themselves up against impossible odds.</p><p>“From how far back?” Angua asked, sitting down.</p><p>“What?” Vimes asked. It was not as if his fists were bruised from fighting, that he stank because he’d been pulling double shifts out on the streets…</p><p>But perhaps he’d travelled forwards, instead of back?</p><p>“You look so…curled in on yourself,” she said. “Like you’re waiting for someone to hit you. Tail between your legs, that kind of thing.”</p><p>“The city that you’re from must be very different from ours,” Cheery observed. “So, it wouldn’t be fair to blame you for being like this, if your environment is usually threatening.”</p><p>Vimes straightened his back as much as he could, his fingers twitching.</p><p>“Well, I’m new in town and I have no direct comparison to what the other Vimes is like,” Vimes said, feeling his temper rising. “Where is he, anyway? Don’t want to bump into myself on the street.”</p><p>“He’s in the hospital,” Angua said with a sigh. “There was trouble last night and he got hit with a few too many arrows. Not that we’ve told the press, or anything. Most of the officers don’t even know yet.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, sir,” Cheery said. “People will just think that you look frazzled.”</p><p>“Oh good,” Vimes said. “That’s fine. I’ve never looked calm in my life.”</p><p>“We know, sir,” Angua said.</p><p>“At least that is consistent,” Vimes said with a sigh. “Better take a look around the place. And Vetinari’s going to want too see me too, isn’t he?”</p><p>He turned to them when there was only silence.</p><p>Oh gods.</p><p>Oh gods, no.</p><p>What if the reason that he’d gotten hurt on the street was because the Patrician was already dead and riots were beginning?</p><p>“About ye high, black hair and always dresses like he’s about to either kill you or divorce you?” Vimes said, making various gestures that were confusing even to him. “Lord Vetinari’s still Patrician, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Cheery said, sounding very careful. “That is true.”</p><p>“I better get over to the Palace, then,” Vimes said, resisting the urge to just spend the rest of the night in the Watch House and maybe get a patrol in once he’d had some coffee and talked to the officers. “He won’t be happy if I don’t let him know that I’m here.”</p><p>“I’m sure that he’ll be happy to have two Vimeses around,” Angua said with a strange smile on her face. “You can get a lot done that way.”</p><p>“He doesn’t seem like he needs the help,” Vimes said, looking at the desk. “My desk has so many papers on it that I haven’t seen the wood in months.”</p><p>“Sir,” Cheery said.</p><p>“I’ll see you later if I don’t get sent home before that,” Vimes said, saluting them both. Then he hurried down the stairs, taking in the multitude of police officers that had clearly been trained as clerks like Pessimal before joining the Watch, a very new dartboard being used by various officers and the scent of good old-fashioned cocoa in the air.</p><p>The building itself was clearly well maintained, the blue lamp above the door glowing in the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Vimes walked the streets to the Palace, comforted by the familiar feeling of rain dripping down his helmet and the sight of familiar buildings and the feeling of cobblestones underneath his feet.</p><p>He could feel the undercurrent of tension and danger, laying over the city like a moldy blanket. The streets were mostly deserted at this time in the evening. People with day jobs were home by now, and those who worked nights were just on their way out the door.</p><p>Nurses and thieves and assassins passed by, as did dancers and actors and bakers.</p><p>It did not take him long to get to the Palace, nor to knock on the door to the servants’ entrance. Better to go through the back door since the Vimes that actually belonged here was still around. There was no use in making himself too visible.</p><p> </p><p>He’d barely made it up the stairs to the anteroom when he saw Vetinari making his way out of an elevator that Vimes had never noticed before, wheeling himself down the hallway with Drumknott beside him. The wheel-chair was the light kind, with a small bag fastened to the side. Vetinari’s feet were planted on footrests and the hem of his dress did not trail on the ground.</p><p>The crowd of civic leaders that had been following Vetinari stopped in their tracks. Mr. Slant narrowed his eyes, Downey grew utterly still and Boggis looked oddly delighted.</p><p>“Ah,” Vetinari said. “There you are.”</p><p>“I’m sorry that I’m late, my lord,” Vimes said, nodding at him. A good lie, if there was such a thing. He’d never been a very punctual man.</p><p>Vimes could see the tiny tilt of the head and Vetinari’s mind taking in all the differences he could undoubtedly see. Vimes kept walking anyway, his legs carrying him to the Patrician’s side.</p><p>“I’d heard that you were dead,” Lipwig said, fiddling with the lapels of their gold suit. “Fifteen people came running into the Post Office to send letters about it to their families.”</p><p>“Clearly they were wrong,” Slant said, shaking his head as if the idea that Vimes would soon be in the ground had been an event that he would not have minded in the slightest.</p><p>“Come on, let’s get going,” Boggis said. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve got to go to work. People to rob, lamps to steal, you know how it is.”</p><p>They went on their way down the stairs as Vimes stood beside Vetinari, distantly aware that he’d folded his hands behind his back and was standing guard.</p><p>That did not mean that he missed the lightning-fast smile that appeared on Vetinari’s face when he looked up at Vimes.</p><p> </p><p>“Ridcully did tell me about a magical storm passing over the city,” Vetinari said after a while. “Come along, if you would be so kind, Vimes.”</p><p>“Yessir,” Vimes said, not missing the strange look that Drumknott gave him.</p><p>“It is a pleasant surprise to have you here,” Vetinari told him as soon as they came into the Oblong Office, which looked much the same as it always did. Drumknott had disappeared, probably to make tea or do some clerky things.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“We haven’t formally announced that you’re in the hospital,” Vetinari said, matter of fact. “So I am going to ask of you if you could ‘step in’, so to speak until my own Vimes is doing better.”</p><p>“I’ll do my best, sir,” Vimes said.</p><p>“As I understand it, your stay here is temporary? ”Vetinari said, looking closely at him. “I’ve heard of similar cases.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Vimes said. “The last time something like this happened to me, I was there for a few days. Maybe I’ll just be here for an hour or two. So, I thought I might just tie a few loose ends. Go on patrol, make sure that everyone is doing all right.”</p><p>“I see,” Vetinari said.</p><p>“I’ll make myself useful, since I’m here,” Vimes said.</p><p>“We aren’t married in your world?” Vetinari asked, covering his bloodshot eyes with his hand. The nail polish on Vetinari’s fingers was so dark purple that it was almost black.</p><p>Vimes took in the engagement ring, a thin gold circle with just a sliver of sapphire on it. And then the two plain wedding rings.</p><p>“No, sir.”</p><p>“And yet you have to able to seamlessly step into the role,” Vetinari said. “At least for a little while.”</p><p>His face was so pale that Vimes found himself wanting to rush to the chair to steady him so that he wouldn’t faint. But he could not get himself to move, not when he saw the look in Vetinari’s eyes.</p><p>“Maybe we are a little bit married,” Vimes said, unable to stop himself. “Gods know that we’ve known each other long enough and been through enough together. You have tea with Sybil all the time. And you’re my son’s godfather.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“Sybil calls you my Work Husband,” Vimes said, shrugging.</p><p>“Our relationship is a cordial, platonic one, then?”</p><p>“Most of the time,” Vimes said. “We used to be at each other’s throats, but we get along now. Rely on each other, that sort of thing.”</p><p>“And are we in love with each other?” Vetinari asked.</p><p>Vimes opened his mouth.</p><p>He wanted to say that they were not.</p><p>But the part of him that had secretly and pathetically stored away every lingering touch the Patrician had ever gifted him with, fingers brushing against his own and gripping his arm for support, every wrist-grab, every whisper in his ear and every intense look silenced him.</p><p>Years of evidence, decades of it, piled up in his mind.</p><p>And then there was the innuendoes and jokes and smiles in his direction. The times Vetinari was definitely and blatantly flirting with him.</p><p>He never knew what to do with himself when that happened. And then there were those few times he’d awkwardly tried to flirt back and ended up a blushing, annoyed mess…</p><p> </p><p>Liking boys too was not something you’d advertised, not when you’d grown up Cockbill Street. Not when you were a vulnerable and broke Lance-Constable.</p><p>It was something that Was Not Discussed.</p><p>It was something that you hid deep within yourself, careful to go for the safer option of courting girls. His mates had left the Watch and the city when they’d been caught kissing in the locker room. It wasn’t until this year that he’d met up with them again, having returned to live in the city again because it had become far more accepting with ‘his’ lord in charge.</p><p>Sybil knew, because she knew him and had seen the way his eyes would wander to men in fine suits and others who were morally outraged at the world. They’d talked about it, him slow and halting while she’d been gentle and listened until he’d managed to admit to himself that yes, he was in fact bisexual. And that it was not something to be ashamed of or afraid of.</p><p>It had taken even longer to admit that he might have a crush on Vetinari. Just a very long standing one. That did not go away. At all.</p><p>Vimes had been ready to take that secret to the grave.</p><p>And now, if he’d have to stay here for any amount of time, would have to pretend to be a version of himself that had been married to Vetinari. If only for a few hours. Or a few days.</p><p>There was no use lying to Vetinari about this.</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Vimes managed, somehow. He’d expected it to feel like ripping off a bandage that had become glued to the skin with sweat. But instead his heart was hammering so loudly in his chest that he could not hear his own thoughts. Perhaps it was malfunctioning and he’d end up on the floor. “It’s been like that for years, now. But I don’t think that you return my feelings, back home.”</p><p>Vetinari was silent. His expression revealed nothing, so Vimes kept going. Even if it felt like he was pouring salty pineapple juice into an open wound.</p><p>“And if he did, I doubt that he’d do anything about it,” Vimes said. “Or it’d be an affair, at most.”</p><p>“Why do you think that is the case?” Vetinari asked, wheeling over to where Vimes was standing, stock still with his back as straight as it would go. The elegant black dress brushed the floor, the long red sleeves were the floaty kind that emphasized Vetinari’s delicate wrists. Technically speaking, it didn’t look too far from his usual robes. But it was unmistakably a dress.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he?” Vimes asked. “He’s got plenty to choose from, people that aren’t aging coppers with anger issues and bad knees.”</p><p>“Vimes-“</p><p>The word sounded harsh and odd, like Vetinari wasn’t used to saying it all the time.</p><p>“Besides, he just flirts with me and gives me all these damn titles and awards to wind me up, so that I’ll get worked up enough so that he can point me towards some problem that he wants me to solve.”</p><p>“Sam-“</p><p>“I mean, sure, I get my job done. To the point where I’m called Vetinari’s Terrier, because I keep digging until I find what I need. Bet you that I’m not called that here. It would be insulting to imply that I’m your pet dog when we’re married-“</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What do you do with a dog that can’t chase anyone, anymore?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What do you do with an aggressive dog that causes problems?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What do you do with a dog that is hurt and old and tired?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You shoot him.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“It would not be ideal,” Vetinari said. “No.”</p><p>“Not that it matters,” Vimes said. “I’ve already made all the arrangements for when I’ve become useless to you.”</p><p>“Useless to me?”</p><p>If Vimes had been searching, he’d have seen the faint traces of horror in how the Patrician looked at him. But he was staring at the desk instead, not able to bring his eyes any higher.</p><p>“The Watch won’t stop functioning when I’m gone,” Vimes said. “I’ve filed all the forms for who is going to be my successor and made suggestions on future improvements. But you’ve made your point, or at least, the other you, that it is only a matter of time that it’ll outgrow me in one way or another.”</p><p>A cog in the wheel, even a big one, always has to be replaced.</p><p>Vimes swallowed.</p><p>It had taken him years to even bring up that he didn’t like Sybil putting on a diet without his consent, even if it was done with good intentions. He knew perfectly well that his food habits were awful and that he craved nothing more than burnt fried bits and food that could be eaten fast and without much fuss, to the point where he dreamed of bacon.</p><p>He was fine with grabbing an orange or two on his way out, to be eaten as a snack later on in the day. Sybil had been happy to hear that, encouraging him to buy sacks of apples for himself and kissing him in the evenings over some oatmeal biscuits and coffee.</p><p> And they both liked eating together as a family in the evenings and on weekends.</p><p>But secretly hiding the fact that he sometimes ate bacon sandwiches and grabbed a pie from a vendor for lunch just made him feel like he was doing intentionally wrecking his own health instead of occasionally eating something he really liked.</p><p>By now he could barely smell bacon when walking through the streets without guilt eating at him, his mind stacking up all the pastries and fried egg and horribly strong coffee he’d consumed that week and hen hollering at him for being an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that he needed the structure of someone that he trusted also keeping track of how he managed his food intake. Or he’d fall into a pit that was eating one meal a day. That was how he’d lived for most of his life.</p><p>And if he was left on his own to decide how he ate, this was how he did it. It kept him feeling in control of his habits and life, enforcing the idea that if he ate less, there would be more time he could spend on other, more important things.</p><p>And it kept his weight down, making him faster when it came to running. That meant that he could still catch criminals on foot, jump on the backs of speeding coaches and fight. That he could keep his job just a while longer.</p><p>But telling anyone that he needed them to keep an eye on him, so that he’d actually eat three meals a day was not an option. At least not yet. Even if he knew that Sybil wouldn’t mind in the slightest, and it would make her worry less.</p><p>So, he’d eat kedgeree with Sybil in the mornings and stay out of the office during lunch hours, grabbing a cup of tea or coffee when he’d come back. Or he’d rush out the door after no more than a bite or two of his biscuit and have a sandwich at work. And if Sybil would send him to work with a banana or oranges, these were snacks to nibble on and to ensure that he didn’t somehow get scurvy.</p><p>And since he was known to be a man that was often too busy to eat or too distracted to eat, or even just forgetful about food, he got away with it.</p><p>For a whole two months, now.</p><p>Sybil had been going to dragon breeding conferences in Quirm and going to all kinds of meetings with Guild leaders and visiting her friends. Young Sam had been on field trips with his school and spending his time afterwards working on projects as a part of the new school science club.</p><p>The feeling of being faint had become a part of Vimes’ life and he went on patrol whenever he could join his officers. That meant that he could keep an eye out for any undesirable developments while teaching the younger recruits how the job was done.</p><p>If Vetinari had noticed anything amiss, he hadn’t said anything about it.</p><p> </p><p>A bony hand was on his elbow, steady as a rock.</p><p>“Sam, you are not a tool to be discarded,” Vetinari said, looking up at him.</p><p>“Sure, I am,” Vimes said, breathing in. “Believe me, that is the case. And it has to be-“</p><p>“Not over here,” Vetinari said.</p><p> “Fine,” Vimes said. “Maybe not. But I’m nothing to you over there, really. A bull in a porcelain shop that you like to watch wreck the place because that suits you. I don’t know any of high-society’s rules and bloody regulations, so I can’t behave like them. And it’s not like I’m going to lie down and die, sir-“</p><p>“I was going to ask if you would consider staying the night?” Vetinari said, his hands still on Vimes’ elbow.</p><p>“What?” Vimes said, taken aback.</p><p>“Since my own Vimes can’t stay here to personally guard me, I thought you might,” Vetinari said. “Even if the unrest last night died down, there might be a few hotheads willing to try a more direct attack. And since you are so taken with being useful-“”</p><p> “What was “the unrest” about?”</p><p>“Diversity,” Vetinari said with a sigh. “There are some that think that our fine city has too much of it. They want to go back to old times, where everyone that did not fit the mold were either kicked out of the city or crushed until they did fit the mold.”</p><p>“And you let them all in,” Vimes said.</p><p>“We did break the mold with our own hands by being very official about our relationship,” Vetinari said.</p><p>“That can’t have made you very popular,” Vimes said. “People must have expected someone like the Patrician to choose better than someone like me.”</p><p>“And did I, back where you are from?”</p><p>“Might have,” Vimes said. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Vetinari was looking at him with an expression Vimes had never seen before.</p><p>“I thought that I’d just stay the night at Pseudopolis Yard,” Vimes heard himself say. “It wouldn’t be fair to disturb you because I can’t control own my feelings.”</p><p>“Your paperwork can wait one night,” Vetinari said.</p><p>“My lord?” Vimes asked, as they came into Vetinari’s rooms.</p><p>Vimes followed him into the bedroom, prepared for a small, austere bed and very ugly wallpaper.</p><p> </p><p>The bed was large enough for at least three people, with soft-looking duvets and many kinds of pillows. There were rails on the walls, a spare cane propped up against the wall. Two more in an umbrella stand in the corner.</p><p>“As Sybil is at the hospital, I thought it would be wise to try to get at least some sleep,” Vetinari said. “I understand if my suggestion-“</p><p>“I’ll stay awake and keep an eye out for trouble,” Vimes said. “Should be easy, I've been doing that all my life.”</p><p>Vimes was glad to see that there was a plain wooden chair by the bed. At least he could sit in that for a few hours. He checked the locks on the window, pleased that they were first-class.</p><p>“Your nightclothes are in the closet, if you want to put some on,” Vetinari said, when Vimes had found himself staring at the bed for some time. “Do excuse me while I get ready for bed. It is a bit of a process, you understand. Creams to apply and medicine to be injected and so on.”</p><p>“Body glitter to be washed off,” Vimes added, opening the closet. It would have been uncomfortable to sit in full armor, he could just keep his baton on the nightstand and his boots beside the bed itself.</p><p>“Body glitter?” Vetinari asked. “What body glitter?”</p><p>“You don’t wear that over here?” Vimes asked. “Mine wears short-shorts underneath his robes in the summer and covers his legs with body glitter. Opened the door to go to a meeting with him without knocking first and saw his legs propped up on the desk, you know.”</p><p>“Indeed?”</p><p>“That was an evening to remember,” Vimes said, blinking away the memory.</p><p>“That is something to think about,” Vetinari said, closing the door to the bathroom.</p><p>Vimes took off his uniform, draping his shirt over the back of the chair and putting his boots on the floor beside the bed.</p><p>The nightshirt was plain, but very soft.</p><p>He was not used to wearing such lacy underwear, but it was not odd enough for him to go digging for a new pair.</p><p>So, he climbed into bed, listening to the hum of the shower.</p><p>No use sitting on the chair all night. He could start here, then move to the chair when Vetinari was sound asleep.</p><p>His heart was pounding as if it was threatening to start malfunctioning.</p><p>“It’s just a nap at most,” Vimes told himself sternly, covering his legs with the duvet. “You are going to stay awake and be alert. Then you are going to wake up and go to work. After that, you are going to go <em>home</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>The Vetinari that wheeled himself out of the bathroom looked different from the one that had gone inside. Gone was the elaborate makeup, most of it there to cover up the bags underneath his eyes and to emphasize his eyebrows. And the elegant dress had been replaced with a plain nightgown. Vetinari’s long hair no longer adorned with tiny plaits that disappeared into a bun, but loose and still damp.</p><p>He helped Vetinari get into bed after the man had done his stretches and massaged his leg and hip with a lotion that smelled like mint. Made by Lord Downey, no doubt.</p><p> </p><p>The night slipped by.</p><p>Vimes listened to the Patrician’s sleepy mumbles about the city and Mr. Fusspot’s loud snores, keeping his eyes on the window and the locked door.</p><p>It was only when his eyes refused to focus that Vimes lay down on the pillow, covered himself with the warm duvet.</p><p>He let himself sink into the mattress, still listening for trouble.</p><p>For a moment, he looked at the Patrician. His marriage to him must have been one of convenience, whatever the reasons they’d had. Perhaps there had once been a law about two very powerful people like the King’s chief adviser and the Head of the City Guard bonded like that so that there would be stability within the city.</p><p>Vetinari muttered something in his sleep that sounded like a book review, then he rolled to his side with a hum of what could only be described as academic disapproval.</p><p>Vetinari’s arm wrapped around his middle, resting on the softest part of it. His fingers spread on the fabric, pressing against his stomach.</p><p>“No,” Vimes said, a chocked sound.</p><p>Vetinari’s eyes snapped open and let go of him immediately.</p><p>“Not…not there,” Vimes managed. Unable to get out words about how it felt to have anyone so near stretch marks that he could not look at himself, even on the best days. Touching the silver ones, from the days where he’d actually started eating three whole meals a day after he’d been with Sybil for a few months, was fine.</p><p>But the more recent pink ones, that had arrived one day unannounced, were out of bounds. No matter how he’d tried to avoid them, not allowing himself any indulgent snacks at work and never even coming close to any of his favorite hot-chair eating places with their greasy burnt tomatoes and sausages, they had showed up anyway.</p><p>“Alright,” Vetinari said softly, clearly still half-asleep. He moved his hand so that it rested over Vimes’ heart for a moment.</p><p>Then was not touching Vimes at all.</p><p>Vimes rolled over to his back, breathing out.</p><p>“Sorry,” Vimes said, looking over at where Lord Vetinari was adjusting his covers delicately.</p><p>“Are you injured?” Vetinari asked with that suspicious look that Vimes was so familiar with. “You have a tendency to bruise your ribs without telling me. And then there is your habit of getting ‘lightly’ stabbed-“</p><p>“No,” Vimes mumbled. “Well. Might as well be. They look like scars.”</p><p>“Pardon?” Vetinari said, putting on a pair of reading glasses that Vimes had never seen before. “Let me see-“</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Vimes said, pulling the covers almost up to his chin. “Just something for me to keep in mind.”</p><p>“Vimes-“</p><p>“It’s just what happens when you can’t afford to eat as a kid,” Vimes said quietly. “Childhood food insecurity and poverty are one hell of a thing. You get used to being thin. And then you get used to the shame of not being thin, Lipwig making comments about you being too fat to run across rooftops these days-“</p><p>“I’ll have a word with him, if he tries anything like that-“ Vetinari began, as if Lipwig was an badly behaved teenager instead of a grown man.</p><p>“Don’t bother,” Vimes said. “It’s just something I’ve got to deal with-“</p><p>“It’s not some sign of weakness of character,” Vetinari said. “Or a failure that means that you deserve punishment and to be mocked. Nobody’s body is going to stay the same for their whole life. Mine certainly hasn’t.”</p><p>Vetinari gestured to his leg and hips, then adjusted his glasses.</p><p>“Right,” Vimes said, his throat too dry. He thought of the way that he’d seen his own Vetinari’s hands clutching his cane after a long day, the way that he sat down as soon as possible whenever he came into his office or a new building.</p><p>How the black coach was used far more these days, how Vetinari leaned on Lord Downey and Sybil and sometimes Vimes, his hand gripping Vimes’ forearm or bicep or shoulder for support.</p><p>He closed his eyes for a while, listening to the sound of Mr. Fusspot snoring in his basket.</p><p>“How long have we been together?” he asked, when his breathing had become easier.</p><p>“Over forty years,” Vetinari said. “Give or take. We got engaged at 16, after I fell through the roof of your house and saw you naked. Your mother immediately assumed that I was your young man, and it was only proper to get engaged after such a scandalous event.”</p><p>“Forty years,” Vimes breathed out. “Ye gods.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Vetinari said.</p><p>“There is no bullshitting you, then,” Vimes said.</p><p>“No, there is not,” Vetinari said. “We married Sybil later on, both sharing you, so to speak.”</p><p>Vimes thought about leaving soon, just slipping out of bed and heading over to the Yard. Sitting down at his desk and working until dawn, taking care of the worst messes and writing up reports so that the other Vimes would know what had been going on while he was hospitalized.</p><p>But he could not bring himself to leave the bed.</p><p>At least not yet.</p><p>Soon the very first rays of light snuck into the room and Vetinari sat up, massaging his leg and hip and rummaging loudly in a drawer for a rattling medicine box.</p><p>Vimes closed his eyes, letting sleep drag him down until there was nothing but darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vimes woke up to the scent of porridge and herring wafting up from the kitchens. And indeed, there was a bowl of steaming porridge on a breakfast tray that had been placed on Vetinari’s side of the bed, which was otherwise empty and cold.</p><p>Of course, the man could be horribly quiet and woke up at an indecent hour. These were just facts of life.</p><p>Vimes sipped the coffee and ate the orange, which had already been sliced for him, by biting into it and sucking out the juice, leaving the fleshy part behind. He’d never gotten into the habit of actually eating the orange, preferring to throw them at A. E. Pessimal or doing this.</p><p>He ate a few spoonfuls of porridge, leaving behind most of it. A part of him shouted at him for not finishing what was in front of him, which he responded to by pushing the bowl away from him.</p><p>Washing in the Patrician’s bathroom was strange, but Vimes was still too sleepy to actually register much what he was actually doing. Instead he found comfort in his usual routine of shaving (even if Vetinari’s shaving soap and aftershave smelled far too fancy) and washing his face.</p><p>He got dressed in the dark, buttoning his shirt and buckling on the breastplate. His movements were automatic by now, he barely had to open his eyes.</p><p>It was only when he’d finished tying his neckerchief around his neck and patted his pockets to reassure himself that he did in fact have his house keys and his cigar case that it even registered that he was not at his house.</p><p>There were so many things to catch up with, so much to do.</p><p> </p><p>Vimes made to-do lists in his head as he stomped down the street, habitually looking for trouble. That was a habit that was so ingrained that he couldn’t turn it off. It was also something that appeared to calm down his officers and oddly enough, Lord Vetinari. Because if Vimes was always on the lookout, other didn’t have to be. At least not all the time.</p><p>He was half-way home before he could properly register where he was going, his feet carrying him on pure muscle memory.</p><p>Before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway of the building that held the dragon pens, watching as Sybil fed the dragons their breakfast. Coal rattled as the dragons scarfed it down and Sybil put her hands on her hips, keeping an eye on a dragon so unstable that he was shivering too much to be able to chew his coal properly. Sybil hacked away at the coal with her shovel, which the dragon then practically inhaled. The cavern girls were away for the moment, probably getting a cup of tea or some medicine for the dragons.</p><p>Vimes raised his hand in a wave, his legs refusing to obey his order of carrying him any further.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” Vimes said as Sybil turned around, brandishing a floppy-eared dragon like a crossbow.</p><p>Vimes decided that he was feeling lucky and kept waving at Sybil like a schoolboy with a crush.</p><p>She stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down and no doubt finding a thousand inaccuracies.</p><p>“Hello, Sam,” Sybil said.</p><p>“Um,” Vimes said, feeling his face glowing hot. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“Likewise,” she answered, looking at him as if he was a buffet and she hadn’t eaten in weeks.</p><p>Vimes swallowed.</p><p>“Havelock had a word with me,” she said, putting the dragon down. “And I spoke to the wizards, so they’d get you back home. Now, let’s get you inside.”</p><p>Vimes nodded.</p><p>Better that no one see him much, seeing that he was supposed to be in the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>He followed her inside the house, helplessly pleased to see that most things looked exactly the same. The furniture was the same, in any case. But instead of just one extra bedroom being occupied by young Sam and his collection of science equipment, two bedrooms were fully furnished. Vimes spotted a bookshelf and some very well-done drawings of dragons in one, a long purple dress on a hanger in the other and a pile of maps.</p><p>Were the children in school now?</p><p>How old were they?</p><p>Did either of them have Vetinari’s blue eyes?</p><p>The little glimpse he’d seen of the iconograph in his office had not given him too much information, but it had been yellowing. So, perhaps they were adults now?</p><p>How was he supposed to handle that?</p><p>Just the idea of having adult children made him want to lie down on the floor in a dark kitchen until he could breathe again.</p><p>Watching Young Sam swinging his schoolbag when he came down the street after school was enough to make Vimes feel as if time was slipping between his fingers.</p><p>He resisted the urge to go inside the rooms and linger there. He couldn’t do that, of course. These were not technically his children, and this was not his timeline.</p><p>And yet he found himself turning towards Sybil with relief so intense that he felt like he was floating, taking in the familiar leather apron and massive boots.</p><p>A gloved hand pressed against his shoulder and Vimes looked up to see that Sybil was looking at him in much the same way as she did when stable dragons suddenly became extremely unstable after eating a can of armor polish and several fireworks.</p><p>“Sam?” Sybil asked. “You are being very quiet.”</p><p>“Lots of things to adjust to, I suppose,” Vimes said, shaking himself a little. “At least I’m still married to you. That’s such a relief.”</p><p>“Oh,” Sybil said, still watching him carefully. “Yes.”</p><p>“I thought I’d take a quick bath,” Vimes began, stepping towards the bathroom and thinking longingly about scorching water and bubbles. “And then get back to work-“</p><p>“Have you taken your medicine?” Sybil asked, pinning him with a stare.</p><p>“What medicine?” Vimes asked, turning around.</p><p>He did not have the flu. And his knees and hips were always felt like they were full of broken glass, so that was nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps he had some sort of pain medication over here that he took regularly?</p><p>“Your heart medication,” Sybil said. “And the ones for your depression.”</p><p>“Oh,” Vimes said. “I don’t take that, back home.”</p><p>Sybil blinked, a frown on her face.</p><p>“Would you like to try it?” she asked, already on her way towards the bedroom.</p><p>Taking medicine for mental illnesses was something that you did when you were at the hospital after a severe breakdown. Or after something very traumatic happened to you. Vimes had known about plenty of widows and widowers who took something to help them handle their grief. That kind of medicine was taken for a short term, usually, while you were trying to handle the aftermath of an illness or a disaster of some kind. Taking regular medicine for nerves was something that the upper classes did, not folks like him.</p><p>Heart medication, that was something else. Taking something for the pump to keep the body alive was practical.</p><p>Just last week he’d heard of meetings for those who had depression, which appeared to consist of the person who was had it speaking with a medical professional about their troubles.</p><p>He’d never considered that to be a helpful solution for him. He had enough trouble going to meetings in order to stay on the wagon. And, well, he’d spent decades keeping his head down and dealing with his troubles on his own, with varying success.</p><p>You didn’t seek help at all, or until everything in your life was breaking. Not even then, he’d found out, when he’d become a watchman.</p><p>He’d seen plenty of screaming families, blood and teeth on the floor and packed bags.</p><p>And coffins.</p><p> </p><p>But perhaps, there were alternatives to that.</p><p>If you knew how to ask for help.</p><p>“What does it do?” Vimes asked, staring at the bottle that did not have an anatomically correct drawing of a heart on it.</p><p>“Brings stability,” Sybil said, readily. “Keeps your mood from dropping and your thoughts from spiraling so fast. You’ve told me that…it no longer feels like you are dragging yourself through a fog of misery when you take them.”</p><p>Vimes kept staring at the bottle.</p><p>“It helps?” Vimes asked, shaking it.</p><p>Sybil nodded.</p><p>“Might as well try some, then,” Vimes said. “See if they work.”</p><p>Then he unscrewed the caps of both the bottles, filled the glass near the sink with water from the tap and swallowed the pills.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to it,” Sybil said as Sam drifted towards the bath itself. The hot water was plentiful, still an almost unthinkable luxury even after all those years.</p><p>He found a black bathrobe on one of the hooks beside a worn green one in his size as he looked around for the bottle that contained the bubble bath liquid. After a while he found the bath basket, which contained a loofah, a pumice stone, a wash-cloth and several bars of soap.</p><p>Vimes sank into the water, happy to see that the bar of soap he’d grabbed was the sort with a rope looped around a hole in the bar, so that it would not try to escape when he was using it. He lay back, almost breathing in bubbles as he felt his muscles relaxing.</p><p>After a few minutes of slow breathing, he began washing.</p><p>The familiar sounds of the house, footsteps on the stairs to the kitchen and the dragons outside settled something in him. Scrubbing his cracked heels with a pumice stone was familiar, so was lathering his short hair with shampoo and washing his whole body with soap with the relief of not actually having to see his body while he was doing it.</p><p>Vimes was pleasantly warm as he got dressed in fresh clothes, humming tunelessly as he finally put on his cheap boots.</p><p>Sybil was waiting for him with a dragon on her shoulder as he came down the stairs.</p><p>“I’ll walk you to work,” Sybil said. “I’m going to deliver this one to his new family, then go back to see how Sam’s doing at the hospital.”</p><p>“How’s he been?” Vimes asked, keeping his voice low.</p><p>“Good morning, Mx. Lipwig!” Sybil called out to their neighbor, who was running towards the Post Office at top speed, golden suit glittering in the morning sunshine. Vimes opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he saw the gold lipstick and glitter nail polish as Lipwig waved at them and kept running.</p><p>“Alive,” Sybil said. “They managed to remove the tips of the arrows from the wounds and sew him up. Been sleeping a lot.”</p><p>“They’ve arrested the ones that attacked him?” Vimes asked. He looked around as they made their way past grocers and actors and maids.</p><p>Gender was not as binary as it was back home, he thought. Long hair was clearly in fashion, and so were colorful suits in all kinds of cuts and long, flowy dresses. They passed A. E. Pessimal and Drumknott, who were both holding hands with a tiny girl with braids in overalls.</p><p>Pessimal saluted Vimes, his nails painted a muted grey and his hair pulled back into a simple bun. His brown suit was still cheap, if well-made, his smile just a fraction brighter than Vimes had ever seen it.</p><p>Vimes saluted back, nodding at Drumknott who appeared to be talking with the little girl about math.</p><p>He turned back to Sybil, who was tapping her chin thoughtfully.</p><p>“Oh,” Sybil said. “The men who attacked my Sam are very dead. Fled the city and were found near Quirm, by the road. Some highway robbers got them, as I understand it.”</p><p>“Vetinari would have liked to have them arrested,” Vimes mused. “And then for the city to kill them dead, as an example of freedom of choice having some very definite consequences.”</p><p>“After he’d frightened the life out of them by haunting them, I imagine,” Sybil said. “Appearing where he should not be, having clerks watch them and so on.”</p><p>“Hm,” Vimes said. “He’s never admitted that he does that, at least to me.”</p><p>“You just pretend that you have no idea that he does any of that,” Sybil said, smiling.</p><p>“Isn’t that the story of our relationship,” Vimes grumbled. “He’ll flirt and make innuendoes and turn me on and off like it’s a game, but we never do anything much about it. Because he’s just having fun-“</p><p>“Can’t you just flirt back and then do some very inventive things on the desk?” Sybil asked, smiling at the flush Vimes could feel travelling up his neck.</p><p>“You’ve told me that you don’t have a problem with it,” Vimes managed, walking faster. The dragon on Sybil’s shoulder made a sound like a dented can being crushed underneath a boot. “Back home.”</p><p>“And yet?”</p><p>“I too much of a coward,” Vimes admitted. “I don’t know how to respond when he, you know. Instead I just gather more evidence that he’s flirting with me. Endlessly.”</p><p> “Seeing that Sam might be in the hospital for at least a few more days,” Sybil said. “You are welcome to…visit this life that we are living. See how you like it.”</p><p>“Right,” Vimes said, not sure what else to say.</p><p>“Now, I’ll have to get going,” Sybil said, kissing him swiftly on the cheek as soon as they were in front of Pseudopolis Yard. “Have a good day, dear.”</p><p>Vimes waved goodbye, stepping inside the building.</p><p>Maybe things would turn out just fine.</p><p>It was just a few days, after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Things were fine.</p><p>Just fine.</p><p>A few days had passed since he’d arrived in this timeline. The wizards had been very opinionated and only resorted to being helpful after Ponder had done some tests and Ridcully had shouted at everyone in his vicinity.</p><p>The tests had left Vimes feeling disorientated and off, but determined to get back to his own timeline.</p><p>Still.</p><p>There was nothing wrong with keeping the fort, for now, since the other Vimes was still hospitalized. Nothing at all.</p><p>You had to do the job that was in front of you.</p><p>And he had.</p><p>Vimes had trudged on and done his job, with his bad lungs, from all those years of smoke and a bad liver too. Old aching knees that didn’t allow him to run much and extra weight that slowed him down. One day all these things would gang up on him and leave him close to dead in the street too, too old and slow to be able to dodge and punch and scream enough to stay alive.</p><p>That was what had happened to that other version of him that was stuck in the hospital, he was sure.</p><p> </p><p>Well, at least he could do his best about one or two of those things that had such a hand in causing such an injury. He couldn’t let that happen to him. It just wasn’t an option.</p><p>He’d already cut down on the cigars, only allowing himself a few every day. He got by on tea and porridge in the mornings and the fruit that Sybil packed for him. And the dinners when he got home at six, at least if it was something like pea-and-ham soup that he could linger over.</p><p>The worried frown on Sybil’s face did not leave when he packed himself more fruit or dipped a biscuit or two into his tea.</p><p>Cheery and Carrot and even Nobby started bringing him sandwiches at lunch, or just cups of coffee or tea with biscuits on the saucer.</p><p>Vimes looked down at the way his thighs spread out as he sat in his chair in the office in Pseudopolis Yard, drumming his fingers on his breastplate that hid his soft stomach. His shirt buttons did not stretch, his chainmail did not dig into his sides.</p><p>And yet, he hadn’t been able to look at himself in any reflective surface in years and liked what he’d seen. He’d understood that it was himself and found it accurate, scowling at the sweat and rumpled…everything if he even remembered to look long enough to notice it.</p><p>He made his way down the stairs with his empty cup of tea, listening to the familiar sounds of the Watch house. Officers talking in the corridors, footsteps of all kinds on the old floor, the showers being turned on in the locker rooms.</p><p>Instead of grabbing a biscuit from its packet on the counter as he poured himself more tea into the mug, Vimes drummed a beat on the counter so that his hands would be occupied by that instead of reaching for the sugar bowl and pouring half of its contents into his mug. Then he made himself go back upstairs before he could change his mind, allowing his officers to believe that he was too distracted by his rage at the paperwork to remember to eat.</p><p>It was not like he didn’t habitually skip meals already.</p><p>When he was a kid there had been days without any food at all, and then weeks when he’d eaten nothing but Snouty’s porridge while on the night shift, and perhaps half a pie or some fried eggs if he was lucky.</p><p>A sack of apples he’d got from his mate as a gift had lasted him a week and he remembered sinking his teeth into one, sitting on the wet steps of the Treacle Mine Watch House and thinking that being able to afford apples every day meant that you could live like a king.</p><p> </p><p>Stomping up the stairs, careful not to spill his tea, Vimes did not allow his thoughts to wander back to the Palace. Better to cut that habit off now. It was not like he was going back there to his husband’s bedroom to sleep.</p><p>No.</p><p>He was going home. As soon as the wizards had figured out how to get him there. He was in no mood to wait for the next magical storm to hit.</p><p>He was going to go home to Sybil, where he’d sleep in his huge bed with its massive pillows and with his wife beside him.</p><p>Young Sam would be asleep in his own room.</p><p>Life would go on.</p><p>Hours would turn into days that would change into weeks and months.</p><p>And the other timeline would fade from his memories like an old dream. That is how he’d have to think about it now, as a dream of sorts. Something out of reach and behind him.</p><p>He signed the paperwork for the pay for all his officers early, sipping the scalding tea until there was a large stack of envelopes for Inspector Pessimal to check again.</p><p> </p><p>The lack of food made him feel faint, but only so that it was always there at the edge of his mind. Lurking.</p><p>He’d gone on patrols with Angua, who’d insisted on buying him extremely strong coffee that was poured over ice, then topped off with a splash of milk. He’d sipped it as she showed him how much the city had changed with the Undertaking.</p><p>There were roads and shops and an underground train.</p><p>And postmen with their bags, walking at top speed.</p><p>Angua had given him a tour of the new Watch house, which had proved to be a very good idea to have below the city to bring the crime rate down. Criminals couldn’t hide as easily with coppers patrolling every inch of the place, after all.</p><p>Vimes had listened to her as Angua spoke, noting new buildings and how the city must have become more diverse earlier on than back home. All sorts of people made their way through the city, on their way to work or school or wherever.</p><p>Angua strode through the streets, her back straight and head held high. Vimes kept looking around, noticing the dark looks some folks were giving other people who were giving the gender-binary the middle finger.</p><p>Vimes found himself shielding the people with the elaborate makeup and buzzed hair from the view of those who were making faces and muttering about them. He walked beside them, glaring all around at everyone who’d made a hostile remark. Angua followed his lead, chatting with one of them about the new menu at Biers.</p><p> </p><p>Vimes bought a packet of cigars instead of an afternoon snack, lighting a cigar to distract himself from the clawing of hunger in his stomach. Swallowing, he tried to block out the memory of two weeks ago, when a former coworker of his had approached him in this street.</p><p>It was a man that had been a copper when Vimes had been a Lance Constable, who’d shown up at Treacle Mine Road one night to cover Fred’s shift, as he had to stay home because one of his kids was sick.</p><p>Sergeant Jonathan Castle had not been asked to go on patrol with Sam, but had simply started walking beside him when he’d gone out. For a few minutes, Vimes had hoped that they’d just finish the shift in silence, no trouble.</p><p>That had changed when Castle had shoved him into an alley after he’d seen Vimes glancing skywards at a dashing figure running across the rooftops. Castle told Vimes that he’d been sent by the Patrician to find out just what watchmen were to be ‘cut out’ due to inappropriate behavior and general dirtiness. Couldn’t have men like that on government payroll, of course.</p><p>Vimes hadn’t managed much more than a stammer before Castle had lifted him up by the neckerchief, his feet dangling in the air.</p><p>“You know that young gentleman up there?” Castle had whispered in his ear, a cruel smile on his face.</p><p>“No!” Vimes had managed, gasping for air.</p><p>“Just like looking at pretty boys, then, do you?” Castle continued, letting go of the neckerchief and immediately kneeing him in the groin. Then, when Vimes had just made gasping sound, he slapped Vimes across the face. “Planning on fucking your way up the social ladder?”</p><p>Vimes shook his head as soon as he could stand, blood dripping down his chin.</p><p>“I don’t know who that is,” Vimes said.</p><p>Castle held Vimes’s face still, fingers digging into the skin.</p><p>There were seventy-five steps to the next Watch house. And Vimes could not move.</p><p>There was nothing poetic or textbook about the beating that followed. It was brutal, leaving bruises all over Vimes’ legs and stomach and splitting his lip. He could only breathe in the stink of garbage and stay as still as possible as the blows rained over him.</p><p>He didn’t know how he managed to stand up again. But he did as soon as Castle stopped, his breathing ragged and a laugh on his lips.</p><p>“Good,” Castle had said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just had to be sure.”</p><p>Vimes had breathed out, already thinking about pressing ice against his face as soon as he could and what he’d tell his mum.</p><p>“Not that anyone would like to be with you,” Castle had muttered, hauling him out of the alley. “Dirt-poor and stupid as you, hah. They’d only want to meet up during the night, when no one could see that they’d spend time with you.”</p><p>Vimes had said nothing.</p><p>He’d just hurried back to the station, trying not to listen to Castle’s laugh following him all the way.</p><p> </p><p>But that was a world away.</p><p>Over here, Castle might as well have picked another person to go on patrol with, all those years ago. Perhaps this city had always been more accepting. Perhaps this Vimes had never met him at all.</p><p>Vimes hoped so.</p><p>He really did.</p><p> </p><p>Angua stayed by his side until they were close to the Patrician’s Palace, saluting when they parted.</p><p>Vimes saluted back, forcing his legs to get up staircase after staircase without falling over. Finally, Vimes climbed up one of the staircases to get the anteroom by the Oblong Office, feeling so faint with hunger that he forgot to grip the rail. A clerk accidentally bumped Vimes’s shoulder, which caused Vimes to lose balance and fall down the stairs, hitting his head on the wall. His legs gave underneath him as the wall met his skull, leaving him feeling oddly numb and disorientated. Bile rose in his throat and his vision blurred, his hands shaking.</p><p>Then there was the feeling of hands on his jaw just before everything went black.</p><p>This would not have happened, he’d later reason with himself, if he’d made sure to actually eat his cheese and onion grilled sandwich instead of letting it cool on its plate. Instead he’d just sipped his tea and waited until the sandwich became a bit too soggy and cold to truly enjoy it.</p><p>He drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like a few seconds, a crumpled heap of bruises and pain. Could have been hours.</p><p>He could not move his legs and his hands shook.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What do you do with a dog that can’t chase anyone, anymore?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What do you do with an aggressive dog that causes problems?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What do you do with a dog that is hurt and old and tired?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You shoot him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was shouting.</p><p>And then bony fingers pressing into his cheeks were familiar. Too familiar.</p><p>But that did not help with the feeling that he was standing on a rickety bridge above the abyss, the cold winds freezing him in place.</p><p>“Can you hear me, Commander?” Vetinari insisted.</p><p>“Hm,” Vimes managed through the haze of nausea and disorientation.</p><p>“Do you know who I am?”</p><p>“Of course,” Vimes said, looking up and being rewarded with Vetinari pushing his face this way and that, appearing to be inspecting his eyes. “You’re Lord Havelock Vetinari. My-“</p><p>
  <em>Spouse.</em>
</p><p> “Friend,” Vetinari finished, a worried crease between his eyebrows. “Let us go with that one today.”</p><p>Vimes tried to nod.</p><p>“Stay still,” Vetinari told him. Vimes could feel his hands brushing over his head, over the place where he’d hit it against the wall like a fool. “There is no blood. Do you feel like being sick?”</p><p>“Not anymore,” Vimes lied, closing his eyes. “And there wouldn’t be anything to throw up.”</p><p>“It’s five o’clock in the afternoon,” Vetinari said, something odd creeping into his voice. “Haven’t you had anything to eat all day?”</p><p>Vimes was silent for a moment, refusing to look up. His head was practically in Vetinari’s lap, for goodness sake.</p><p>“I had tea,” Vimes said. That was true, at least. He’d burned his mouth by gulping it down on his way out the door this morning. And he’d had some for lunch. “And some coffee.”</p><p>“You’ll need at least two days of rest,” Vetinari said. “No shouting, ordering your officers about or going on patrols.”</p><p>“That sounds horrible,” Vimes said, gripping the rail and standing up on unsteady legs. Vetinari gripped his upper arm, helping him climb the stairs.</p><p>“And you need to eat.”</p><p>Vimes said nothing.</p><p>“I will personally ensure that you get some rest,” Vetinari said sternly. “I can’t have you walking around with a head injury.”</p><p>“What, it’s not like I’ve not hit my head before,” Vimes argued.</p><p>“Nonetheless,” Vetinari said. “You’re injured and need to rest to ensure that the damage-“</p><p>Vimes stopped listening when Vetinari started saying medical words and probably speaking Quirmian too. Instead he focused on getting his legs to actually walk instead of collapsing to the ground, where he would sit until the stars above the Palace died.</p><p>I didn’t work.</p><p>They just shook so much that he had to grip the railing.</p><p>“Stay still,” Vetinari ordered him.</p><p>Vimes sank down on the steps, putting his head in his hands and then felt Vetinari’s hand on the back of his head, pushing his head down until it was in between his knees.</p><p>The hand stayed on the back of his neck, cool and soothing.</p><p>Vimes breathed in and out, slowly.</p><p>“We’ll stay here for a while,” Vetinari said gently. “Then I’ll help you upstairs, so you can lie down on the sofa in my office.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m here for,” Vimes despaired. “Just let me do my job-“</p><p>“You’ll listen to quite a few appointments that way, if you are worried about not being useful,” Vetinari said. “I’ll find you some of those romance novels you love so much, so that you’ll be entertained.”</p><p>“Are you going to have food delivered to me too?” Vimes joked, not looking up. He didn’t ask why Vetinari knew about his secret habit of reading romance novels. Over here, it might not be so secret.</p><p>Maybe he didn’t hide his romance novels underneath the bed, but put them in the actual bookcase. And didn’t sneak a few into his work-bag, just in case it was a slow day.</p><p>“You’ll have to tell Sybil and I what you can handle,” Vetinari continued, his voice low. “If the medicine makes you feel ill, we can consider changing-“</p><p>“It’s not that,” Vimes blurted out, his head hurting too much to think of a lie. He could hear the tears in his own voice as the headache stormed through his mind and body. He took several shaky breaths.</p><p>He waited for Vetinari to lose his patience, to demand to know what the hell was wrong with him.</p><p>But there was only silence.</p><p>Vetinari’s hand rested on his neck, only moving the press against his shoulder when Vimes’ breathing became easier as the worst of the pain washed away.</p><p>“It’s going to be just fine, dear,” Vetinari said. “We can stay here for as long as you need-“</p><p>“You’ll miss your appointments,” Vimes said, swallowing.</p><p>“They can be rescheduled” Vetinari replied. “Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time.”</p><p>Vetinari patted his own leg, then made a thoughtful humming sound.</p><p>“I’m sorry about this,” Vimes managed, finally raising his head. “I didn’t mean to be so much trouble-“</p><p>“Oh, I always knew that you’d be trouble,” Vetinari said. “But it has always been worthwhile. Your mother held quite a speech about how I should treat you right and take good care of you if I wanted to be your young man.”</p><p>“I’d have liked to hear that,” Vimes said, wiping his eyes.</p><p>“A perfectly understandable reaction, given that I’d entered your house via the roof and ended up on the bed in your bedroom, where you were very naked.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Vimes said.</p><p>“Oh yes,” Vetinari said. “Quite a bumpy start, in many ways.”</p><p>“I bet it was,” Vimes managed, seeing the faint smile on the Patrician’s face.</p><p>Vimes managed to stand up, gripping the rail so hard that his knuckles shone white. He leaned on Vetinari the rest of the way, especially when they took the elevator the rest of the way upstairs.</p><p> </p><p>The sofa was much more comfortable than Vimes had expected. Pillows had been shaken; a woven basket filled with paperback books with colorful covers. And there was a pile of blankets on a small table.</p><p>“Oh,” Vimes said when he’d taken off his armor, feeling his hips and butt complain as he lay down. He picked up a book at random from the basket after he’d spent some time making himself comfortable.</p><p>He managed to read a few paragraphs before he fell asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vimes spent most of the first day with a cold towel over his head, listening to meeting after meeting where people wanted to tell Vetinari lots of things about the city. Sometimes Vetinari would put his hand on Vimes’s shoulder when checking on him, or adjusted his blankets.</p>
<p>He made a pleased sound when Vimes took his medication. And he sat down beside Vimes, keeping a careful eye on him at mealtimes. Eggs and toast in the morning, with a full pot of tea. Vimes had dipped his soldiers into the egg, every movement slow and painstaking.</p>
<p>It was strange to see Lord Vetinari putting on what Vimes had begun to refer to as his ‘Doctor Vetinari’ hat, making suggestions about Vimes sticking his feet into a bucket of hot water for ten minutes after he’d been on patrol all day. Or allowing himself to buy as many romance novels and knitting supplies as he liked, same with things he’d need if he wanted to do some home improvement projects. Then Vetinari had talked at length about the importance of having hobbies and such outside of work, just as he did, playing Thud and doing that odd numbers crossword that Vimes had never understood.</p>
<p>Then for lunch, there was fruit salad and vegetable soup. Vimes had taken his time with the bowl of soup, careful not to just gulp it down in a hurry as usual, burning both his mouth and throat. He had, however, put quite a lot of spices and chili oil into his soup. That had still not overpowered the sheer amount of garlic that was in that soup.</p>
<p>The rest of the day was spent on the sofa, napping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was only on the second day that he could focus enough to actually read. The first two novellas he’d delved into were light and fluffy, where the three people involved very much got their happily ever after and most of the sex was implied or behind closed doors.</p>
<p>Vimes still enjoyed the kissing scenes, humming happily when he’d figured out where all the hands were supposed to be and enjoying the descriptions of soft lips and the brush of a beard against skin.</p>
<p>Most of the people that came into the Oblong Office appeared to simply think that Vimes was taking the day off work, nodding at the cup of tea by his elbow on the side table and his lack of uniform. Instead he was wearing a green knitted sweater that Sybil had clearly knitted for him, as well as extremely comfortable trousers and lilac socks.</p>
<p>Then Vimes had picked up an actual novel, drawn in by the two ladies on the cover and the promise of it being set in Ankh-Morpork. He’d only been half-listening to Vetinari’s meeting with Mx. Lipwig, who was wearing heeled boots that made Vimes worry about them breaking their ankles with every step.</p>
<p>He’d learned that Lipwig used all the pronouns, muttered to themselves when upset and kept wrapped sandwiches in their pockets. They were currently talking about the postal system and new stamps, so Vimes adjusted his pillow and kept reading.</p>
<p>“What?” Vimes found himself saying accusingly after reading a few chapters, slamming his novel shut in frustration. “I thought that everyone in a situation like that back then, <em>always </em>had a plan B.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Mx. Lipwig testily. “Some of us are on angel time, and enjoy living on the edge where you make things as you go along-“</p>
<p>“Not that,” Vimes said, slowly sitting up. “I mean ‘Plan Bridisi, or failing that, Plan Quirm. Preferably both. Yes, both is good.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Vetinari asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”</p>
<p>“You know how if your community, coworkers or shitty family members might be prejudiced against you for a variety of reasons and Plan Brindisi is all about how you’ve already packed your bags for when your ship has finally come in and you’re going to take your beloved with you to Bridisi, park ‘em in a chair in front of a café so that you can sit in the sun and eat that pudding with the coffee on top?”</p>
<p>“Tiramisu?” Vetinari asked, blinking.</p>
<p>“That’s the one,” Vimes said. “And maybe you stay for the weekend in a nice hotel before coming back home, unless you are also going to go for Plan Quirm. That’s the plan where you leave the city to live there you never come back home ever again. Sometimes that meant that you’d elope together, but usually the main thing was just to start a new life over there.”</p>
<p>“You’ve not mentioned this to me before,” Vetinari said, looking at Vimes with an odd expression on his face.</p>
<p>“It’s a leftover thing of being in a very hostile environment and trying to keep your friend groups hoping for a better future than our awful present,” Vimes said, shrugging. “A shared dream, you know, for people that had no money and no stability.”</p>
<p>“And the book is portraying it wrong?” Vetinari asked, tilting his head.</p>
<p>“I think I was the only Lance-Constable in the Night Watch that didn’t have his bags packed already,” Vimes mused. “If the author is going to use old slang like Plan B and Plan Q in their book, they should know what it means…”</p>
<p>“I see,” Vetinari said.</p>
<p>“And fast coffee,” Vimes said, glaring at the book. “There should be fast coffee at the café. In tiny cups.”</p>
<p>“Your friends never came back to the city?” Lipwig asked, clearly curious. “They just ran off?”</p>
<p>“Better to do that than to be beaten to death or having to deal with being disowned by your entire family, who tell everyone that you’re dead when they ask how many children they have, or about your well-being if they knew you,” Vimes said.</p>
<p>“Beaten to death?” Lipwig asked, horror in their voice.</p>
<p>Yes, Vimes wanted to say. So many of my fellow officers, so many of the kids that were in my tiny classroom and in my gang came home to a family that would whip them at the drop of a hat. Any hat. Kids that were so vigilant that they noticed if people started breathing differently, jumped if someone put down groceries too hard, washed themselves in the tin tub until their skin looked raw.</p>
<p>So, they joined a Guild as soon as possible, if they didn’t already belong to one. After all, being an apprentice with a bunk for yourself and your own set of tools was far better than staying at home. Some married early, too. Some of them became coppers, somewhere else. All that hypervigilance came in handy when gathering evidence or keeping an eye on criminals.</p>
<p>And these were the lucky ones, that got away.</p>
<p>It wasn’t just the Shades that had been worse. Cockbill Street had its own terrors.</p>
<p>Especially for those kids that had stood out, for whatever reason. Be it that they got scholarships or behaved out of line. If you managed to escape the crab bucket, you never wanted to go back…</p>
<p>“The city was very different then,” Vetinari said.</p>
<p>“I didn’t have to flee, because I was…extremely lucky,” Vimes said, smiling at Lord Vetinari, who inclined his head in acknowledgement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vimes flopped back on the sofa, opening the novel again. Maybe the author had been misusing the slang on purpose and there would be a twist. Sam was too stubborn to leave it alone, so he skimmed the rest of the novel, feeling that he was being unreasonably happy when the couple did in fact move to Quirm and got married there.</p>
<p>He barely listened to the rest of the meeting, feeling drowsy. His mood hadn’t dropped at all otherwise all day, his heart remaining steady unless Vetinari was doing something like drinking a glass of water, which made a strip of skin on his pale wrist visible. Whenever Vimes saw that he had to put a cool cloth over his eyes for several moments until his heart stopped doing absurd things. The bath he’d taken that morning had drained the stiffness and tension away from the muscles in his back and shoulders, leaving him feeling warm and clean. That feeling had persisted all morning as he’d rested and chatted with his lordship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think my medication is working,” Vimes said, when Drumknott had brought in a whole pot of tea and a selection of biscuits that tasted exactly like the ones that Vimes’s mother had made, all those years ago. Perhaps she’d given Vetinari the recipe when they’d first gotten together?</p>
<p>“Oh?” Vetinari said, sitting down beside Vimes with his own cup of tea, watching as Vimes dipped a second biscuit into the tea. Vetinari put his arm across Vimes’s shoulders, something he’d thought of as an impossible occurrence, just a few years ago.</p>
<p>“I feel kind of…calm,” Vimes said. “And it helps, having someone around who makes sure that I’m…eating and actually resting.”</p>
<p>“If there is something that you would like, you just have to tell me,” Vetinari said, putting down his cup.</p>
<p>Vimes opened his mouth and then closed it again.</p>
<p>“There is a selection of sweet and savory pies downstairs, I’m told,” Vetinari said, as if he was divulging a great secret. “As well as some fresh blueberries.”</p>
<p>“I’ll just stick with the tea and biscuits,” Vimes said, drinking his tea too fast and burning his mouth.</p>
<p>“Speaking of sticking with things,” Vetinari said, pulling out a box from somewhere inside his robes. “I have something for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vimes stared at the box, thoughts swirling around in his mind uselessly. Boxes like these did not contain anything else than rings.</p>
<p>He put his cup down on the side table so hard that it was a wonder that the porcelain did not crack.</p>
<p>“Since you’ve been here for longer than we thought you would be, would you consider wearing these?” Vetinari asked, handing over the box. “As you are fully ‘stepping in’ for my husband.”</p>
<p>Vimes opened it, willing his hands not to shake like a bush in a hurricane.</p>
<p>Two gold rings rested on the velvet, along with a ring with just the tiniest sliver of sapphire.</p>
<p>“Just for the time being?” Vimes somehow managed to say, taking in the sight. Something at the very core of him was unravelling, tears threatening to surface. “While I’m here?”</p>
<p>“Only if you want to, of course,” Vetinari said, a hand on Vimes’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Vimes nodded, swallowing the spiky lump that had appeared in his throat, uninvited.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to put them on?” Vetinari asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Vimes said, nodding for good measure. He held out his hand, not wanting to miss out on a single second of this. Even if they weren’t actually getting married, even if this was a temporary thing.</p>
<p>The rings slid on, one by one.</p>
<p>Vimes breathed out, feeling the cold metal against his skin. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them for a long moment, adjusting them.</p>
<p>Then he looked up to see that the Patrician was looking at him, something soft in his eyes that Vimes had spent years either avoiding or ignoring, telling himself that he was only imagining things.</p>
<p>“The general response to your stay here is that people are assuming that our relationship is going extremely well,” Vetinari said. “Seeing that we are seen spending so much time together.”</p>
<p>“Is it?” Vimes asked, laughing a little.</p>
<p>He put his hand over Vetinari’s delicate, bony one. It looked horrible in comparison, scarred and the fingers wonky because they’d been broken so many times that they’d never set right. But at the moment he didn’t care.</p>
<p>Vetinari looked down at their hands when Vimes stroked over his hand with his thumb, as slowly as possible as if to test if this was reality.</p>
<p>“You must think that I’m being stupid, holding hands with you like this,” Vimes said. “And acting like it’s a big deal.”</p>
<p>“No,” Vetinari said. “I just slid an engagement ring and two wedding rings on your finger, and you are someone who never imagined that he’d get anything like this sort of love in your life. That’s bound to make anyone emotional. So, no. I don’t think that the fact that you want to hold hands with me is stupid.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Vimes said, nodding.</p>
<p>“I’ll let you rest,” Vetinari said, standing up with some difficulty. Then he strode over to his desk, his curiously blank expression already in place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the night came, he found himself in Vetinari’s bedroom again, listening to the sounds of Vetinari getting ready for bed. He was already in bed, having washed up for the night and put on some lavender lotion that Vetinari had told him helped him fall asleep.</p>
<p>Vimes had been arranging his pillows when Sybil came in, already dressed in her nightgown and wearing slippers. She had a bright look in her eyes and strode over to the bed without any fanfare, looking Vimes over.</p>
<p>“You look better,” she told him, patting his chest. “And just as well, since the wizards tell me that they think that another magical storm is on its way in three days, if they can’t get you home sooner than that.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Vimes said. “Right. Good.”</p>
<p>She took off her nightgown and threw it on the chair, then got into bed beside Vimes. Not two minutes later, Vetinari had made himself comfortable on the other side.</p>
<p>Vimes kept his eyes open for as long as he could, listening to the both of them dreaming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a relief to get back to work, as it always was. Vimes felt steady when he walked through the doors of Pseudopolis Yard, hearing the stairs creak as he walked and listening to the familiar sounds of his officers doing their jobs.</p>
<p>The file on Jonathan Castle was already placed in the middle of his desk, beside a heap of notes in Angua’s handwriting, with Cheery having added yellow sticky notes to several earlier reports.</p>
<p>Vimes read all of it, soaking in information like a sponge.</p>
<p>They’d been trying to hunt him down for decades, the reports told him. And then there was the compiled list of all his crimes, too. The newest reports informed him that he’d been sighted several times in the city in the last two weeks, but had escaped arrest. For the time being.</p>
<p>They were still on the lookout for him.</p>
<p>Vimes shut the file, leaning back in his chair. Then he stood up, pacing the office. He looked at the framed iconographs of his children for so long that he could trace their faces and expressions, burning the memory into his mind forever. There would be no taking those iconographs with him when he went back home, after all. And there was no guarantee that he was going to actually meet them in person.</p>
<p>Then there was the endless paperwork to take care of, signing everything and so on. Vimes plowed through it all, not willing to leave a heap of work for the Vimes that actually belonged in his world.</p>
<p>And if that meant that he’d stop writing for a few minutes at a time, looking at his rings, no one would ever know. He was alone in his office.</p>
<p>It was clear when he went down to the kitchen for some coffee that the news had spread that he was not their Commander, in the way that his officers looked at him. But they didn’t ask too many questions after he’d explained what had happened, their eyes lingering on the rings on his fingers.</p>
<p>It was only when he took a sip of his coffee that four dwarf officers backed away so hard that they crashed into other tables and chairs.</p>
<p>“That’s the sign of the Summoning Dark!” several of them said, some sharply and others in a high, terrified tone.</p>
<p>“Sure is,” Vimes said, mopping up the coffee that had dribbled down his chin with a paper towel. He launched into another explanation, this one much longer than the former one. When he was done, Carrot had showed up and seemingly every other dwarf officer he’d ever hired.</p>
<p>“We can help you get rid of it, sir,” Carrot said, after a while. “It’s no good that the head of the police has something like that within him.”</p>
<p>Vimes opened his mouth, wanting to argue that having the Summoning Dark around meant that he could see in the dark, that he could become very scary, very fast, that he did like to have that extra help if things got ugly.</p>
<p>But then he thought of the fact that there was always darkness lurking in his mind, ready to strike. That even if he had made his peace with it and could contain it, that it did not mean that it was a good thing to have around. Some part of him had forgotten what it was like, not to have it there. It had been a long, long time.</p>
<p>It was enough to deal with his own personal darkness. Medicine and support could help with that, as could those meetings with a specialist that he’d heard of. But none of these had any effect on the Summoning Dark.</p>
<p>“You can do it safely?” Vimes asked. “Make sure that it doesn’t hurt anybody?”</p>
<p>“Yessir,” Carrot said.</p>
<p>“We’ve got practice,” Cheery said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Since we did this for our Vimes, too.”</p>
<p>“Right then,” Vimes said. “Let’s get it done.”</p>
<p>Then he was tied down in the chair and surrounded by all kinds of dwarves, who did things that Vimes could never hope to understand, in a language that he could barely speak. Words that he recognized floated by as they chanted and sang, as the sun sank in the sky.</p>
<p>He had the feeling that a thorny plant that had taken root within him and spread, tangling itself all around his organs, was being torn out by the root. He focused on managing to breathe, aware that his body was shaking uncontrollably and that tears were running down his cheeks. Goosebumps were running down his legs and sweat glued his shirt to his skin.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, the tattoo on his wrist was gone. He felt so light that it was as if he was floating, something heavy and terrible lifted off his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” Carrot said. “It’s gone, now. And it’s been contained.”</p>
<p>Vimes breathed out.</p>
<p>“Thank you, everyone,” Vimes said to his officers and the specialists they had summoned. “I’m very grateful.”</p>
<p>Vimes kept still as they untied him and put a mug of cocoa in front of him. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, it came back red with blood because his nose had started bleeding during the procedure.</p>
<p>The scent of expensive Quirm chocolate mixed in with the cocoa powder and coffee was so good that he didn’t drink it right away. Instead he let the mug warm his hands, watching as his officers went back to their desks or chatted. He drank his cocoa slowly, adding a splash of heavy cream to it when Pessimal handed him the tiny jug.</p>
<p>He didn’t resist when they called a carriage for him and refused to let him out of sight until he was in fact sitting in the anteroom to the Oblong Office, still feeling light and strangely clean. Picking up the knitting he’d started working on when he’d been on the sofa, Vimes took the yarn and let his fingers move for a long while as the horrible clock on the wall tested him.</p>
<p>He let his mind wander as he knitted the washcloth, proud that he’d finally managed to learn how to change colors. Hunting down a book about knitting from the attic at home had been a challenge on its own. Then he’d found another book on knitting for beginners from in the bookstore, because the letters in that book were bigger and he could read them better than the cramped handwriting of Sybil’s great-great-great grandaunt.</p>
<p>And perhaps that was the secret, he mused as he kept knitting. Doing things on purpose, even if it was hard and scary.</p>
<p>Vimes watched the door to the Oblong office for a while, listening to the faint sound of Vetinari’s voice inside the Oblong Office.</p>
<p>Loving on purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vimes stood up as soon as Boggis strode out of the Oblong Office, nodding at the knitting supplies that Vimes was hastily stuffing back into his bag. He held his helmet underneath his arm, as if he was just there because he had an Official Appointment with the lord of the city.</p>
<p>Then he opened the door to Vetinari’s office, striding inside before he could convince himself not to.</p>
<p>Vetinari looked up from where he was standing in front of the window, only lightly resting on his cane.</p>
<p>A good day, then.</p>
<p>Or a good hour.</p>
<p>“Ah, Sam,” Vetinari said, raising an eyebrow when Vimes turned around and locked the door. “You’ve come to see me?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Vimes managed, seeing Vetinari no doubt take in whatever change had occurred when the Summoning Dark was now gone from his mind. “I figured, that since I’m here. We might, if you want to as well, use our time…wisely.”</p>
<p>“That does sound ideal,” Vetinari said carefully as he made his way to Vimes. “There’s no sense in wasting time. After all, we’ll never get it back.”</p>
<p>For a moment, Vimes readied himself to be sat down in that chair in front of the desk, then telling Vetinari all about the paperwork he’d finished and how he’d gotten rid of a demon that had lived inside his body for far too long.</p>
<p>Instead he stepped towards Vetinari, pulling him close until they were inches away from each other.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Vimes asked, his hands lightly gripping the long, floaty sleeves of Vetinari’s dress. “All right?”</p>
<p>He’d never been good at words.</p>
<p>But perhaps he didn’t have to be.</p>
<p>The other people on his team were very good at them.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Vetinari confirmed, nodding for good measure.</p>
<p>The helmet clattered on the floor as Vetinari pulled him even closer by his lapels, their lips crashing together. Vimes kissed him back as gently as he could, savoring the moment. If he was never going to get the chance to do this again, he was going to take it now.</p>
<p>Vetinari unbuckled his breastplate so fast that Vimes almost jumped when it joined his helmet on the floor, too caught up in how close Vetinari was to him. The fact that he could, once again, feel the man’s breath on his skin.</p>
<p>Vetinari did not grip his sides, digging his fingers into the flesh, instead he rested them on Vimes’ chest before cupping his jaw.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Vetinari breathed out, pulling away from Vimes and looking him in the eye.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Vimes said, stepping closer and kissing him. He’d have lipstick all over his mouth later on, but he didn’t care. Hands stroked over the short hairs on the back of Vimes’s neck as Vetinari deepened the kiss and Vimes felt as he was floating, grabbing onto Vetinari’s shoulder to stay grounded. He breathed through his nose, unwilling to stop kissing his lordship. Instead he found himself holding Vetinari close, memorizing how he felt his arms.</p>
<p>He lost himself in the kiss, moaning as Vetinari stroked the shell of his ear and Vimes found himself trying to undo the tiny buttons on the back of Vetinari’s elegant dress.</p>
<p>Vetinari untied his neckerchief and kissed the bare skin of his neck. Vimes’ breath hitched as Vetinari grinned wickedly before kissing his neck again. The chainmail was the next thing to end up on the floor, landing in a heap. Then the belt, truncheon and sword and handcuffs. His lordship’s movements were practiced and smooth, there was no hesitation. Vetinari’s hands lingered on his soft sides, lips brushing against his Adam’s apple.</p>
<p>“Please,” Vimes breathed out, shuddering. “Havelock.”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to stop?” Vetinari asked, his breath ghosting over Vimes’ ear.</p>
<p>“No,” Vimes said, shaking his head. “Just…go slow.”</p>
<p>He’d thought of this, of course. For a split second after an appointment that had been particularly good, with both of them agreeing on what had to be done about a certain issue. Vimes had allowed himself to look at Vetinari’s long fingers for a second too long, imagining just how skilled they’d be at…all sort of things.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Vetinari said, a hand brushing over Vimes’ shoulder. It was a familiar enough gesture that Vimes stilled as Vetinari’s thumb stroked over the worn fabric of his shirt.</p>
<p>“I suppose you know exactly what you are doing,” Vimes said when Vetinari unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. “A familiar instrument, and all that.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” Vetinari said, looking at Vimes as if he was a steak and Vetinari was starving. “I do have <em>several decades</em> of practice.”</p>
<p>“Oh, gods,” Vimes said, as that sank in.</p>
<p>“Hm,” Vetinari replied, wiping lipstick off Vimes’s neck with his thumb.</p>
<p>“Could we move this to the bedroom?” Vimes asked, glancing at the desk. “I’d rather not do this here.”</p>
<p>There were reasons. Like the fact that when he’d get back home, he’d never be able to look at that desk again without associating certain memories with it. His own Vetinari was distracting enough. He didn’t need more distractions in his life.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Vetinari said, moving to the wall, where a panel slid to the side. He took Vimes’s hand and soon enough they were in Vetinari’s rooms. And then inside the bedroom.</p>
<p>Vimes swallowed when Vetinari turned around without a word.</p>
<p>“The buttons, if you would be so kind, Sam,” Vetinari said.</p>
<p>Vimes undid the buttons with sweaty hands, happy that he didn’t accidentally tear one off and lose it underneath the bed. Instead he was gifted with the sight of Vetinari’s pale back, partially covered with a black, see-through camisole.</p>
<p>He helped Vetinari out of the dress, which Vetinari placed over the back of a chair. Vetinari’s drawers were also black and mostly see-through. Such things were called lingerie, Vimes tried to think instead of being distracted by what they contained.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Vimes said, seeing the deep scar that ran all the way up to Vetinari’s hip and down to the knee, like branches of a tree. The scar was partially covered with a black silk stocking, probably there to minimize chafing. He resisted the urge to put his hand against the scar, feeling it against his hand. Instead he looked up to find that Vetinari was touching his collarbone with an overabundance of care.</p>
<p>“May I?” Vetinari asked, a hand on the second button of Vimes’ shirt.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Vimes said, breathing out. “It’s only fair that you-“</p>
<p>Vetinari did not move.</p>
<p>“Sam,” he said. “It’s not about the scales being even. If you aren’t comfortable with me doing this, you just have to tell me.”</p>
<p>Vimes thought of the way that Vetinari’s hand had pressed against his stomach through the nightshirt, about his reassurances when Vimes had blurted out the reasons why he didn’t want to be touched there.</p>
<p>“I want you to,” Vimes said, finally. “I need you to do this for me. Because you can see things that I can’t see, at least not anymore. And maybe, if you see those things, I might too.”</p>
<p>“I understand,” Vetinari said, nodding. “Very well, then.”</p>
<p>A button.</p>
<p>Two.</p>
<p>The rest of them.</p>
<p>The shirt was parted and pushed off Vimes’s shoulders, his trousers unbuttoned and shrugged off.</p>
<p>Vetinari pulled him into another kiss. It wasn’t a desperate one, of people that were making love as they would never see each other again. Instead it was gentle and slow, as if they had a life-time to themselves.</p>
<p>Vimes didn’t want to rush.</p>
<p>Because if he was only going to get to do this once, it wasn’t going to be a quick fuck that was over before it began. No matter how temping a quick hand job in the office might sound, it wouldn’t have been this.</p>
<p>Vimes took in the sight of Vetinari’s flushed neck and the bulge in his very fine drawers. His messy, long hair and the smudged lipstick. And the fact that he was looking Vimes right in the eye, looking content and curious.</p>
<p>Vimes kissed him again, deepening it and making small sounds when Vetinari responded with great enthusiasm. Vetinari’s hands stroked over the pink and purple marks on his sides and belly, tracing them as gently as possible. Vimes could feel his calloused fingers on his skin, letting the tears run down his cheeks as shame washed away.</p>
<p>Maybe, over here, people did treat you as a person when you were fat. People wouldn’t stifle laughs behind his back when he went to a wedding with his wife, eyes lingering on his stomach even if the suit fit perfectly. The whispered comments that he’d been enjoying himself too much, that it was clear that he wasn’t going on patrol these days, that it was incredible that the city had changed so much that watchmen actually got fat these days instead of ending up dead on the cobblestones.</p>
<p>Over here, Vetinari wasn’t disgusted by him.</p>
<p>Over here, Vetinari treated him with respect, with love.</p>
<p>And maybe, he could get used to that idea. Instead of assuming that he’d be treated like a joke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vimes wiped his eyes when they parted, his breathing shaky.</p>
<p>“There you are,” Vetinari breathed, pressing their foreheads together.</p>
<p>Vimes kissed him, burrowing his hands in Vetinari’s silky hair. They kissed until they were both breathless like teenagers and just as curious.</p>
<p>Vetinari’s hands wandered lower, cupping the bulge in Vimes’s drawers and hummed appreciatively. He stroked Vimes through the fabric before shoving the drawers down and taking him in his hands. The pace was steady and sure, almost leisurely.</p>
<p>“Slowly, you said?” Vetinari asked, pushing Vimes down on the bed and climbing in after him until they were side by side. He did something extremely distracting with his hands, which made Vimes part his thighs.</p>
<p>His heart thundered, pleasure building so fast that he could barely think.</p>
<p>Vimes’ entire body trembled when Vetinari parted his thighs even more, not letting his fingers sink into the soft flesh but simply pushing.</p>
<p>The pace changed, slow enough for Vimes to be able to breathe, but fast enough for him to know that he’d nonetheless make a mess of things soon. Vetinari had a look of intense concentration on his face, eyes gleaming as he watched Vimes as if he was very much enjoying the show. Vetinari’s breathing was ragged, his pupils blown wide.</p>
<p>Well, that would not do.</p>
<p>Vimes raised the long chemise and began unlacing the back of Vetinari’s flimsy underwear. Vetinari pulled his hands away. Vimes blinked, moving them to rest on Vetinari’s waist.</p>
<p>“Don’t you want me to?” Vimes asked, swallowing.</p>
<p>“I do,” Vetinari said, flushing from his chest to his ears. “But at a later time.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Let me do this for you, Sam,” Vetinari said, slightly out of breath, his hand on Vimes’s cock and picking up the pace to the point where Vimes’s vision went white at the edges. “Let me show you what this can be like.”</p>
<p>“Please, Havelock,” Vimes managed. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Vetinari hummed, crushing their mouths together and wrapping his leg across Vimes’s hips, his hands still working. Vimes kissed him back with everything he had, bucking his hips against him.</p>
<p>The smug look on Vetinari’s face had been replaced with fascination as Vimes almost dissolved into a pool of satisfaction so intense that he felt faint. His skin was slick with sweat, his heartbeat wild in his chest.</p>
<p>Then he shuddered, gasping as he came.</p>
<p>Vetinari stroked him through it, leaving him a trembling mess. It took him some time to get himself under control, breathing deeply.</p>
<p>“Do you still want me to-“ Vimes said, blushing so hard that he wondered if the sheer heat of it would fog the room.</p>
<p>“I do,” Vetinari said. “Very much.”</p>
<p>Vimes unlaced the drawers slowly, as if he was unwrapping a gift. Then he massaged Vetinari’s leg for a long moment before taking him in his hand. He didn’t look away when he saw the last of Vetinari’s control slip away, his breathing loud in the room and shaking beneath Vimes. Vimes kept going, learning as he went until the very end.</p>
<p>Then it was only a matter of wandering into the bathroom for a wet rag to clean them both up, which Vimes did very carefully before finding them some fresh nightshirts and covering them both with the duvet.</p>
<p>Outside, the stars shone and the wind was howling in the trees.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wizards had put him through the wringer, arguing about old traditions and all kinds of methods on how to get a person back home to their own parallel universe. Ridcully had eventually suggested just opening up some kind of portal, then throwing Vimes inside the portal and hope to hell that it would lead him back home.</p>
<p>Ponder had pointed out that the Time Monks were already using all kinds of tools to manage the situation and that the magical storm that was already on its way to the city would take Vimes with it, bringing him home.</p>
<p>Vimes had trudged home to Scoone Avenue, happy to be able to sink into his favorite armchair with a cigar and a cup of tea at his elbow. He’d planned to fall asleep like that, or find himself one of the romance novels he’d seen on the shelves.</p>
<p>Sybil wasn’t home yet, still at a meeting with various ladies that controlled a large part of the city’s trade network, which included coal for the dragons as well as the timber needed to build more pens. He’d noticed that Sybil appeared to go to far more meetings and appointments with Guild leaders and city officials here, leaving him free to do more coppering and have more time to himself.</p>
<p>There were far more people coming in and out of the dragon pens, learning about the species and taking good care of them than back home. Not that Sybil wasn’t the one training them, but so were other ladies were almost as invested in dragons than she was.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.</p>
<p>Sybil would be home in an hour or two. And then perhaps Vetinari would show up too…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a shuffle on the stairs that was distrinctly not Willikins. Nor was it any of the cavern girls that Vimes had been introduced to earlier, or the new cook.</p>
<p>Vimes stood up, listening intently.</p>
<p>After all, Vetinari had been worried about someone attacking him in the night. Perhaps they’d decided to strike at Vimes’s home at night instead of at the Palace.</p>
<p>He made sure that his foosteps could not be heard on the rug. He wasn’t an assassin, but after all those years at Vetinari’s side, he’d learned quite a few tricks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door opened to reveal a young individual with their arms full of painting supplies, wearing a paint-splattered pinafore over a faded green dress. Their hair was neatly braided and their eyes were a very familiar light blue.</p>
<p>They stopped as soon as they saw Vimes, raising one hand to sign.</p>
<p>Vimes fumbled for his glasses, shoving them onto his face to see the sign for ‘Good evening.’</p>
<p>Vimes copied it slowly, his mind a swirl of memories from when his mum had begun to lose her hearing after spending too many night shifts on the factory floor. Fragments came back to him of how to say basic things, having learnt from a smudged book he’d gotten from a second-hand store, and then learning from his neighbors and one or two mates from work.</p>
<p>Vimes fumbled, signing his name. Then he apologized, even more slowly, for being out of practice.</p>
<p>“I’m Robert,” the young person in front of him signed, carefully and several times until Vimes nodded.</p>
<p>“Hello, Robert,” Vimes signed. “It’s nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>Robert smiled, signing: “Likewise.”</p>
<p>Vimes watched as Robert set up their painting supplies, selecting paint brushes and lining them up in a neat row and adjusting the easel. The old iconograph in his office was definitely Robert, just younger and playing with his sibling.</p>
<p>Vimes approached them carefully, signing: “I’m going to read in the chair.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door opened again before Robert could answer.</p>
<p>A young woman came inside the living room too, not built slight and wiry like the one before her, but the sort that could lift carriages with one hand. The expression on her face was one of alert attention, as if she was on a mission and would not stop until she’d completed it.  A dragon was perched on her shoulder, looking around with a curious air.</p>
<p>Sam Vimes became very, very still.</p>
<p>“Hello,” Vimes managed, looking both of them up and down. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from either of them.</p>
<p>“Hello, Dad,” the young woman remarked, carefully. “I’m Lydia.”</p>
<p>Vimes stared at his adult children, aware that tears were running down his face as if he was a leaky faucet.</p>
<p>“Let’s have you sit down,” she said, leading him to the armchair. She drew up two chairs, one of which Robert claimed as his own and sat down. “Father and Mum said that you’d hit your head recently. Do you want me to call the Palace to get him to come home?”</p>
<p>Vimes shook his head.</p>
<p>“I’m just…overwhelmed,” he said, sitting down.</p>
<p>“Right,” Lydia said. “We can help with that.”</p>
<p>Robert pulled up a small flower-print toilet-bag from a basket beside the armchair. When he shook it, it rattled.</p>
<p>“I’m not much of a makeup man,” Vimes said. But then he saw the tiny bottles of nail polish when Robert actually opened the bag.</p>
<p>He found himself rummaging in the bag, feeling curious and oddly…reckless. All kinds of people wore nail polish over here, and the more that he’d seen it, the more he’d started eyeing the nail salons and wondering if he’d stay here for long enough to be able to justify making an appointment for himself.</p>
<p>“The gender binary is much more rigid back home,” Vimes said, choosing between a lively purple and a copper shade. “Even Havelock gets pushback when he grows his hair long sometimes.”</p>
<p>Different communities were doing different things, of course. Some prided themselves on being modern and allowed their people to show at least some ways to present differently. But usually just a little bit.</p>
<p>Vimes sometimes had to go into his office to hide the fact that he was tearing up when his youngest officers openly talked about how their kid was in fact not the gender they had thought that they were at birth and were in the process of transitioning to a different one. Or when a Lance-Constable showed up at an office party with a partner of the same sex, or several partners without worrying that such a thing would not be acceptable.</p>
<p>How uniforms were no longer sorted into ‘female’ uniforms and ‘male’ uniforms, but everyone could mix and match as they liked.</p>
<p>All things that would have been impossible just a few decades ago.</p>
<p>“And do all those people argue that by having those rules about gender presentation be so strict that if it was not it would inevitably bleed into not obeying other rules of society, leading into lawlessness and chaos?” Lydia asked.</p>
<p>“Something like that,” Vimes said, picking up the bottle with the copper shade. “I’ve given it some thought, and decided that they are all arseholes, the lot of them. And I told them that, when they brought be in front of the Patrician to complain about my officers not being ‘proper’ in that way.”</p>
<p>“Father must have been happy about that,” Robert signed, looking pleased.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Vimes signed back, slowly. “He really was.”</p>
<p>He could still remember the hand in front of Vetinari’s face and the delighted gleam in his eyes when Vimes had gone on a long tirade about this being a modern and inclusive city, and that he would not accept anybody being dragged back to the old ways of doing things just because some folks could not crowbar their minds open enough to tolerate that other people were different from them and should be let alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robert painted his nails copper, putting on a clear coat that they explained would protect the colorful base layers.</p>
<p>Lydia chatted with him about her work, drawing shapes in the air as she talked about building houses that trolls could walk around in without having to worry about breaking the stairs. And all the houses that were being built underneath the city as a part of the Undertaking. Small housing units for students, larger ones for all kinds of families and then of course shops and offices and even a few watch houses.</p>
<p>Vimes looked down at his nails once they had dried, admiring the shine.</p>
<p>“I married late,” Vimes managed, watching carefully as Robert put away the nailpolish. “Much later than over here, at least. And I only married your mother.”</p>
<p>“No running away to Brindisi to elope for you, huh, Dad?” Lydia said playfully.</p>
<p>“Nah,” Vimes said. “But then again, I could go for that back home. Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Just grab Mum and Father and run?” she asked. “Leave the city behind with packed bags and a train ticket in your pockets?”</p>
<p>“Something like that,” Vimes said. “State weddings are so much trouble. Your grand-aunt Bobbi has kidnapped me enough times to discuss the details of it over the years, just in case me and Vetinari would wanna get hitched. The security alone would be a nightmare.”</p>
<p>“Still, there is something to be said about giving people a show,” Lydia said. “Tell ‘em to shove their backwards ideas up their jumpers.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Vimes said. “But I’d have to have a talk with Vetinari about getting a say in what I’m wearing.”</p>
<p>“He’s going to make you wear silk stockings no matter what,” Lydia said.</p>
<p>“Better than tights,” Vimes argued. “And I have far too many opinions on how high my heels can be. I’ve got to be able to carry him over the threshold and I can’t do that if I can’t walk.”</p>
<p>“Who are you carrying, Sam?” Sybil asked from the hallway.</p>
<p>“Havelock, if you aren’t carrying the both of us over the threshold, were we to marry in my timeline,” Vimes said, the image of Sybil just picking both of them up easily now lodged in his mind.</p>
<p>“Hold onto that dream, Sam,” Sybil said, pulling him up from the chair. “Havelock said that you should be resting by now.”</p>
<p>“I am resting,” Vimes grumbled. “I was talking with the kids.”</p>
<p>“Robert said that he could see your eyes dropping closed a few times,” Sybil said, patting him on the shoulder and steering him out of the room.</p>
<p>“Good night, sweethearts,” Vimes said, taking a long look at both Lydia and Robert.</p>
<p>“Night, Dad,” Lydia said and Robert waved goodbye.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Vimes made himself comfortable in the huge bed with the last romance novel in a series, propped up on a heap of pillows. He’d stuck his aching feet in a bucket of hot water for ten minutes in the bathroom while he washed his face, brushed his teeth and put the lotion that Sybil had handed him on his face.</p>
<p>He’d become used to seeing the medicine bottles in the cupboard and taking them every morning as a part of his routine.</p>
<p>Drying his feet with a towel and pouring the water into the tub was also a new, but as it resulted in his feet no longer attempting to murder him every day if he did this and then rubbed some lotion into the skin until it was all gone, he was grateful that he started doing it.</p>
<p>The ladies in the novel were trapped in a blizzard together and were confessing their love of each other when Sybil climbed into bed. Vimes put the book down when she pulled him close.</p>
<p>“Some things don’t change, do they?” she asked, kissing the back of his neck and the shell of his air.</p>
<p>Vimes breathed out, sinking into the comfort of Sybils’ embrace. Her hands traced his form as she kissed the spot where his neck met his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Some things stay the same,” Vimes said, turning around and kissing her. Sybil deepened the kiss, cupping his ass and humming appreciatively.</p>
<p>“When I told my Sam that you were here,” Sybil said when they broke apart, “he was just happy to heart that you were helping out and doing his paperwork.”</p>
<p>“I bet he was,” Vimes said. “What does he think about…all this?”</p>
<p>Vimes motioned between them, waving his hands in weird ways.</p>
<p>“At first he thought it was odd,” Sybil said. “But we agreed that since you’d never had the chance to be loved like this before, we might show you what it was like.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Vimes said. “So, he’s all right with this?”</p>
<p>The book fell to the floor when Lord Vetinari closed the bedroom door, standing there for a while in a magnificent red and black dress, cinched at the waist with a black belt. His blood-red eyeliner was so sharp that it could have cut a man and the smile on his face was even sharper.</p>
<p>“He is,” Vetinari said, unbuttoning his dress far too slowly. “And the children have gone to bed wearing earplugs.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Vimes said, swallowing as the Patrician nodded at Sybil, who smiled as if the two had been making very elaborate plans.</p>
<p>The dress was neatly draped over the back of a chair, the stockings too. And the boots unlaced.</p>
<p>“My gods,” Vimes managed, drinking in the sight of the Patrician unpinning his hair until it was around his shoulders. He was sure that the heat of his blush was fogging up the windows by now.</p>
<p>“I thought we’d have to take off your fine uniform,” Vetinari said, adjusting his dark purple camisole. “But I see that we’re already a few steps ahead of that.”</p>
<p>He joined them in bed. Then he laced his fingers with Vimes’, openly admiring the polish.</p>
<p>“You’re full of surprises,” Vetinari said, throwing an leg over Vimes’s thigh.</p>
<p>“Am I?” Vimes asked as Sybil pressed closer to his back, warming him. “I thought that you’d know everything about me by now. I’m a simple man. And you’ve got the other one as a reference, too.”</p>
<p>“You’re not the same,” Sybil said, turning Vimes over so that he lay on his back. “And there’s always something new to discover.”</p>
<p>It was new to have two people kissing him at once, long and casual. To have two people at once slamming the button called ‘bisexuality’ and ‘polyamory is real and valid’ as hard as possible, exploring every inch of him enthusiastically. Tracing every scar they were unfamiliar with a hum of worry, never digging their fingers cruelly into the places that he didn’t like.</p>
<p>Instead they treated him gently, making love to him with the sort of thoroughness and attention to detail that they both applied to other important aspects of their lives.</p>
<p>Neither of them covered his mouth when he gasped for breath, as so his first (and only) boyfriend had always done, hushing crossly at him for being loud and emotional. They just kept going, always checking in with him to see if he was alright with what was going on.</p>
<p>And when it was over and he’d come back to himself, they’d covered him with the duvet and ordered him to go sleep.</p>
<p>He still kept his eyes open for as long as possible, listening to the scream of the wind outside and the rain trying to attack the windows.</p>
<p>Which was just as good, otherwise he wouldn’t have heard the tile on the roof break as someone stepped on it.</p>
<p>“That wasn’t a bird,” Vimes whispered, shaking them both awake. “Or a dragon.”</p>
<p>His mind raced, thinking of Assassins and having to argue with Death until he’d play darts for either of their lives. Having to carry Vetinari to the hospital, screaming for doctors until they came racing. Having blood on his hands and having to wait helplessly in a chair in some hallway in the hospital for hours on end.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Sybil said, patting him on the chest. “It’s just our neighbor being a bit restless.”</p>
<p>Vetinari stood up with some difficulty, hitting the ceiling with his cane a few times until no more tiles on the roof were cracking.</p>
<p>“Get off the roof, Mx. Lipwig!” he called out. “Go to sleep!”</p>
<p>There was silence.</p>
<p>Then a tile or four slid down the roof and there was a scream. Then a very loud splash.</p>
<p>“What a nice, deep pond we have in our garden,” Vimes said, breathing out.</p>
<p>“I’ll send a letter to Adora,” Sybil said, yawning. “Ask her when she’s coming back to the city.”</p>
<p>“Do that,” Vetinari said, sitting back down on the bed and then making himself comfortable. “I need my four hours of sleep.”</p>
<p> “I’ll go help them out,” Vimes said, stretching. But he did kiss both of them for a while before he actually got out of bed and put on his uniform.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stepping into the cool night air woke him up properly, so did seeing that Willikins was already in the garden. They hoisted a very cold and soaking wet Mx. Lipwig out of the pond, who spluttered and joked about the situation.</p>
<p>Vimes hosed them clean of pond scum and mud, then sent them off home with a big basket of towels that Sybil had left near the door for when events such as this one would inevitably occur. Not that the rain wasn’t doing most of the job for them already, lightning cracking in the sky high above the city.</p>
<p>Vimes was going to turn back to the house, planning on spending at least a few more hours with his family before the magical storm would truly hit when he saw a group of wizards and monks making their way down the street towards the house.</p>
<p>Sybil and Vetinari were already standing in the doorway, wrapped up in their dressing gowns. He hurried to them, trying to find words. He’d never been any good at them, so he just let them grab him and pull him close for a searing goodbye kiss.</p>
<p>He waved goodbye to the kids, who waved from their windows as the wizards and monks took him away.</p>
<p>It was time to go home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The monks had grabbed his shoulders and hurled him back in time, leaving his armor and life behind. He’d found himself naked in his office at Pseudopolis Yard, shivering like a leaf in a storm before he’d managed to drag himself off the floor and found his spare uniform.</p><p>He’d spent a long time seated in his wobbly chair behind the desk in that uniform, willing himself not to scream for one last glimpse of a family he’d never see again. He couldn’t even move when his officers had torn open the door to his office to find him with his head in hands and then resting his head between his knees as he breathed in through his nose.</p><p>Blood had pooled on the floor because he’d somehow managed to slice his arm open with a very sharp letter opener that had been on his desk when he’d fallen on the desk from mid-air.</p><p>Vimes stayed still as Igor patched him up, as Angua and Cheery and Nobby tried to talk to him, even when it was clear that he could not comprehend a word they were saying. His mind was a haze of white noise, pain spreading through his mind and body from the fall.</p><p>Shock, Igor told him repeatedly, instructing him to stay in the chair until Lady Sybil would pick him up in a carriage. Finally, the bandages were on and the blood mopped up and Igor left, closing the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Minutes passed as he listened to the sounds of the Watch House settling, the news of him having returned no doubt spreading like wildfire.</p><p>Vimes put on his reading glasses and swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. The window was open, letting in the cold air. He dragged the nearest file towards him, because he needed to remember what was happening now. In this timeline, where he belonged.</p><p>The words refused to obey him, not even registering in his mind.</p><p>Vimes rubbed at his tired eyes, sipping at the scorching tea Nobby had he’d left on his desk. He dipped the biscuit in it too, reminded of how Vetinari had smiled at him when he’d done that, in that place over the rainbow, so to speak.</p><p>He chewed slowly, only now noticing how hungry he’d been.</p><p>It took time to finish eating the biscuits in the packet on his desk, but he managed to get them down without having to reach for the rubbish bin to spit them out, as he’d sometimes done before because he’d tasted them, but there was no reason to let them actually attribute to how soft his stomach had become.</p><p>The other Vimes had almost died in the street, behind one of the first barricades. A multitude of wounds, arrows in the wrong places and splinters from where the furniture had been broken had slowed him down.</p><p>What had they been planning to do, should he have died? Would they have buried that Vimes privately and fast, leaving him free to pretend to the world that he hadn’t died at all?</p><p>He didn’t know.</p><p>He didn’t want to know.</p><p>He only looked up when he heard Sybil’s boots on the floorboards, relief almost bowling him over.</p><p>Sybil strode into his office without knocking and gathered him up in her arms, which Vimes did not protest at all. Instead he let himself sink into her embrace and steered into their carriage. She held onto him the whole way home and Vimes grasped her hands, not willing to let go either.</p><p> </p><p>Then they were home.</p><p>Vimes could barely take in his surroundings, his heart thundering so loudly in his head that it hurt to breathe. Instead he just held Sybil’s hand until they were in the bedroom, his hands fumbling when he tried to unbuckle his breastplate.</p><p> Sybil helped him take off his uniform and lie down in the big bed among the pillows. Falling asleep was more like a freefall than anything else. Down, down, down into the darkness.</p><p>He woke up with Sybil’s arm around his middle, his heartbeat thundering in his chest and breathing too fast.</p><p>She didn’t wake up when he sat up, a hand over his mouth and the image of Vetinari’s eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling stuck to his mind like toffee lodged itself in your hair.</p><p>“That didn’t happen,” Vimes muttered to himself. “His Vimes is recovering fine, you were around so that no killer dared to approach him. And even if they had, he knows how to handle things himself. You didn’t have to carry him to the hospital in your arms after having played darts for his life and yours with Death, then threatened Morporkia herself to shape the city so that you could move faster through it in order to save his life.”</p><p>The image of the lanterns burning yellow and orange in the dark city street as he’d demanded that Morporkia pay them both for their lifelong service to the city by saving their lives had burned itself into his mind like a brand.</p><p>He breathed out and then in, deliberately counting breaths until he was no longer shivering or looking around the room for Vetinari to show up and lie down beside them.</p><p>The pillow was wet with tears and his nightshirt and drawers were glued to his body with sweat, so he got up and washed himself with a cloth dipped in freezing water from the tap. His hips and sides were blue and green with bruises from his repeated falls and he had to change cloths when it became pink with blood as he washed the wound on his arm again.</p><p>He wrapped it up with bandages he found in the cupboard, then let the cold water run over his scarred wrists and knuckles, his wonky fingers and shaking palms until his hands felt numb. Then he splashed his face with water, letting it run down his neck and half-rinsing what was left of his sweaty hair.</p><p>“You are back home,” Vimes told his reflection, water dripping down his chin and his grip on the sink so hard that it hurt. “And you will <em>live</em>.”</p><p>Vimes put on a fresh pair of drawers and the laciest nightshirt he could find; his feet bare on the floor as he went back to bed.</p><p>Vetinari did not show up a few hours later, clad in his nice nightshirt and smelling like expensive soap as he slid beneath the covers.</p><p>Vimes kept his eyes open anyway and counted heartbeats until he felt Sybil stirring and it was safe to get up.</p><p> </p><p>“I was married to Lord Vetinari, over there,” Vimes said as soon as Sybil had woken up properly, sitting up and stretching. “For two whole weeks.”</p><p>Sybil nodded.</p><p>“You were both married to me,” Vimes continued, unable to stop. “And we’d been married for a long time, when I…took over as your husband when the other Vimes was in the hospital.”</p><p>“And it was easy,” he despaired. “It was so easy, to just…be married. To think of it as this evolved buddy system…to love him back.”</p><p>“Sam, you’ve been looking at Havelock like he hung the stars for years now,” Sybil said patiently. “You think I didn’t know that you are in love with him?”</p><p>Vimes tried to say something, but no words came out. Instead tears just burned his eyes and slid down his cheeks and ended up soaking into his already wet pillowcase. Not because loving Vetinari was a betrayal of Sybil, but that he’d always thought that these feelings he’d harbored for his lordship had been nothing more than a deeply silly and longstanding crush that nothing would come of, who would one day fade away to nothing.</p><p>And that no one would have noticed them but him.</p><p>If Vetinari had, then he’d just consider them a kind of a joke or something to be aware of, filing it away for later consideration.</p><p>“I didn’t know,” Vimes said, finally. It came out as a strangled sob. “I didn’t know that I was in love with him. I just thought that I was being stupid.”</p><p>“Oh, Sam.”</p><p>“Just a schoolboy crush, you know,” Vimes continued, unable to stop. “No one that I’ve ever liked that way has ever treated me nicely when I did something about it, except you. And it wasn’t like he was ever going to make a move or love me back.”</p><p>“That’s always so difficult for you,” Sybil said, wiping away the tears on Vimes’s neck. “Believing that someone could and would love you back.”</p><p>“But now I’ve seen him doing it,” Vimes said. “I’ve experienced it. And I don’t want to go back to how things are.”</p><p>“Hm,” said Sybil, holding him closer, her hand stroking the fabric of his nightshirt. It was the laciest one he’d found, stuffed into the very back of the closet. “Then let’s take stock of how things are and see what we can do about it.”</p><p>“All right,” Vimes said, closing his eyes. “That sounds like a good plan.”</p><p> </p><p>When Vimes had washed, shaved and mostly gotten dressed, he sent a clacks message to the Palace to inform his lordship that he’d be taking the morning off work. He’d never done that before unless he was so ill or injured that he was forced to stay in bed, so the response he got was one of concern and very much felt like it was sent by Dr. Vetinari instead of just plain old regular Lord Vetinari, ruler of the city.</p><p>Vimes sent back an uncoded reply that he had some personal errands to run, adding a smiley face like Cheery had taught him. It would probably unnerve his lordship.</p><p>Then he dug around in the closet until he found a red neckerchief instead of the standard brown or black one and tied it around his neck. It wasn’t a flashy red, but still bright if faded. Proof that he could wear something that made him stand out and draw attention without it being too eye-catching.</p><p>And it was not like people were going to shout at the Commander of the City Watch for such a tiny deviation from how the uniform was officially supposed to look like these days. The Commander of the Watch could wear a colorful neckerchief if he wanted. It matched his cloak, anyway.</p><p>Vimes ate his eggs and toast with Sybil and Young Sam, listening to the little boy’s stories of what he was planning on doing after school and how many exams there would be at the end of the month.</p><p> </p><p>Going to the hospital to meet up with Dr. Lawn had been much easier than he’d thought it would have been, as he sat in the surprisingly comfortable chairs in the waiting room and read the romance novel he’d kept in his work-bag. Then when he was inside the actual office itself, he explained about his trip to the alternative timeline and the medication that he’d taken there.</p><p>Dr. Lawn didn’t look surprised that he’d had another time-travel trip.</p><p>Instead he just found the names of the medicine that Vimes had taken after Vimes had described how the bottles and pills had looked like and how they’d worked on him.</p><p>“You should have been taking these for years,” Lawn said, scribbling down the prescriptions on a piece of paper for the pharmacist.</p><p>He looked over the wound on Vimes’s arm, changing the bandages and listened to Vimes’s recollection of hitting his head and the days of rest that Vetinari had insisted that he’d take.</p><p>“Making you learn to relax, is he?” Lawn asked, motioning to the knitting needles that stuck out of Vimes’s bag.</p><p>“Something like that,” Vimes said.</p><p>“Did you know that a collection of Old Stoneface’s letters was published yesterday?” Lawn asked, inspecting Vimes’s head for a while and then moving on to his hands, humming as he swabbed the bruises on his knuckles with disinfectant.</p><p>Vimes shook his head.</p><p>He had a copy of the collected letters and his diary that Sybil had made for him as a present. Old Stoneface hadn’t been much for writing, but he’d been very direct when doing so. Vimes had read his old reports too.</p><p>The original copy was kept by the Guild of Historians in storage, too fragile to be handled by the public.</p><p>“You can get a copy of it in all the bookstores,” Lawn said, throwing the piece of cotton away.</p><p>“I’ll take a look,” Vimes said.</p><p>“Come back in two months for a checkup, we’ll see how the medication is treating you,” Lawn said.</p><p>“Right,” Vimes said. “Thanks for this.”</p><p>“It’s my job,” Lawn said, opening the door. “Have a nice day, Commander Vimes.”</p><p>Vimes waved goodbye, sticking the note for the pharmacist in his bag.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After he’d gotten his medicine from the pharmacy, Vimes had headed to the old bookshop in Peach Street, where the booksellers now knew him by sight and usually steered him towards where the diverse romance novels were kept after he’d been browsing for a while. A bookseller chatted excitedly about heroines that loved other heroines and a new novel that featured a disabled hero as they showed them the shelf with the new novels.</p><p>He’d borrowed his mother’s romance novels when he’d been a Lance-Constable, reading them over and over again when he was on jail duty or nothing much was happening at work.</p><p>As far as he knew, she’d never bought a single one. Her colleagues and neighbors all read them and shared them with each other, a huge library of cheap romance novels.</p><p> </p><p>He’d found a book titled ‘Sign language for beginners and intermediate students’ in the textbook section, happy to see that it had clear instructions and lots of useful phrases.  The collection of Old Stoneface’s letters was slim volume, clearly censored to hell and back. Vimes decided to buy it anyway, to see what was considered appropriate to let the public know about the man and his life.</p><p>There was certainly not going to be any sections that talked about his relationship with the king’s head advisor, a tall and elegant man who wore rivers of black silk and old Justice had described as having very fine eyes and hands, capable of charming you to the point of speechlessness and argue so deliciously that they’d both end up breathless and alight with passion.</p><p>Vimes browsed through the book, looking for the familiar allusions and code that had dotted his ancestor’s letters to his wife, as well as the man who worked by his side for the city’s sake.</p><p>Maybe he’d have to have his lordship look both the copy he had of the original as well as this collection over, after all, he had an absurd number of doctorates to his name, surely he’d be able to understand some of the code that Vimes didn’t know what to do with.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure that his lordship reads the romance novels that I ‘accidentally’ leave in the anteroom to his office,” Vimes told the bookseller after they’d complimented his nail polish and commented that their partner also liked to paint his nails when he was feeling fancy.</p><p>“Lord Vetinari reads romance novels?” they asked, stopping in their tracks.</p><p>“I only leave the best ones behind for him,” Vimes said. “He quoted one of them during a meeting with some of the Guilds earlier this month, baffling everyone but me and Lord Downey, I think. It was the one about the two naval officers that fell in love, even if they were on opposite sides in the war.”</p><p>“That scene where they reunite after the war, though, sir,” they said with a dreamy sigh.</p><p>“Hm,” Vimes agreed. “His lordship hates wars, and empires.”</p><p>“And is secretly a bit of a romantic, I gather?” they asked as Vimes gathered a whole heap of romance novels into a stack in his arms. “Secretly. Very secretly.”</p><p>“At least a little bit,” Vimes said, who’d personally just visited a certain pawnshop, where he’d seen his mother’s old engagement ring in the window. The sliver of sapphire on the thin band of gold had glinted in the morning light and Vimes had slid inside the shop to the utter terror of the shopkeeper. Vimes had to spend several minutes calming him down, explaining that he was not here because of work but because he was a customer.</p><p>The ring was now in the inner pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.</p><p>It felt good to have it back, as it had been sold for food when he’d been around eighteen. Like so many things in the house, it had to go when there wasn’t enough money for rent or food.</p><p>Vimes paid for the heap of books he’d selected and put them into his bag, waving goodbye to the bookseller and their partner when he left.</p><p> </p><p>There was a tiny Brindisian restaurant café next door to Hugo’s that Vimes had never seen before, clearly brand new. He knocked on the door, seeing all kinds of couples and families inside. Outside there were a few tables with umbrellas fastened to them, but since the fog was still obscuring most of the city, they were unoccupied.</p><p>The air smelled like fresh pastries and strong coffee.</p><p>The gangly man that opened looked downright worried, his eyes lingering on the badge pinned to Vimes’s breastplate. Vimes noticed the newest brand of hearing aids one ear and raised his hands so sign.</p><p>The din inside the café quieted down when Vimes closed the door behind him.</p><p>Some of the guests were signing frantically at each other as well as the man that had answered the door.</p><p>Vimes caught only a few words, such as ‘Boss of Watch’ and ‘stubborn’ and ‘maybe coffee?’</p><p>“Good morning,” Vimes signed slowly and carefully.</p><p>“Good morning, sir,” the man signed back, glancing at another man behind the counter who was pouring fast coffee into tiny cups. “I can assure you, we have signed a lease contract and have a café and restaurant permit-“</p><p>“Oh,” Vimes signed. “Not here about that. Not worried. Can I make a…”</p><p>“Reservation?” the man signed, both eyebrows raised skywards. “You want a table?”</p><p>“For three people,” Vimes signed, showing three fingers and being careful about getting the gender-neutral version of ‘people’. Maybe Vetinari would like to wear a dress here, if he owned those over here. Vimes had once glimpsed one of his makeup cases, so it was a possibility.</p><p>“On Sunday afternoon,” Vimes said. Giving both Sybil and Vetinari almost a week to clear their schedules should be enough. “Around four.”</p><p>“Is ten minutes past four acceptable?” the man asked, grabbing a clipboard and flinging on a smile.</p><p>“I’ll ask his lordship to move meetings around,” Vimes heard himself mutter, then turned around when half the café went still and silent at his words.</p><p>“Your lord?” the man signed, eyes alight. “Lord Vetinari, the city lord?”</p><p>Vimes nodded.</p><p>“Here?” the man continued, blinking.</p><p>“And my wife,” Vimes signed, thinking of how odd that the sign for lord was still ‘bread-guard’. “Lord Vetinari likes the fast coffee.”</p><p>Vimes looked around at the guests, who were nodding in approval of that. Of course, Vetinari had good taste when it came to coffee, while Vimes tended to prefer the sort that was served in hot-chair places around the city.</p><p>Still, he’d always liked to visit a café like this one.</p><p>Maybe they didn’t have to go to Brindisi at all, because Brindisi had come to them. There was no need to leave the city to live the life that they wanted to live, because the city had changed enough to allow everyone.</p><p>“Maybe outside, if it is sunny?” Vimes suggested, noticing a big tray full of tiramisu being carried by a waiter towards a table in the corner. “That would be…good.”</p><p>“All right!” the man signed, but it came across as something like: ‘music with rocks in!”</p><p>He even gave Vimes a note as a reminder of the fact that he’d reserved a table for three, writing down the address and time for good measure.</p><p>“Thank you,” Vimes signed, surprised at how much he actually remembered when it came to signing. It had been a skill that he hadn’t much used throughout his career, but one that was always useful to have. The new book would help him improve; he was sure of it.</p><p> </p><p>Vimes hadn’t quite managed to close the door to the café when Angua was hurrying towards him, clearly glad to see him. He could hear the noise level rise like bread on a hot summer day as soon as the door closed behind him.</p><p>“His lordship wants you,” she told him, shoving a tall rubber cup of iced-coffee with caramel sauce into his hand. “And I got a two-for-one on caramel coffees from this cart, so I brought you one.”</p><p>“It is good to know that he wants me,” Vimes said, too bisexual not to. “Now?”</p><p>“We arrested Jonathan Castle yesterday evening,” Angua said, looking proud. “Cheery was the one who cuffed him after he’d tried to attack one of the younger Constables while he was sharing a pie with his spouses after work.”</p><p>“Sounds like him, alright,” Vimes said, sipping his coffee. He willed himself not to look into a certain alley as they passed it, where Castle had pushed him into it and beaten him to a pulp. It had been bad enough so that he didn’t remember much of what had happened the days after that beating.</p><p>“Since it turns out that he’s been doing that sort of thing for decades, all over the Disc, Vetinari probably wants to know that we’ve interrogated him and tons of people have come forwards as his former victims.”</p><p>“Right,” Vimes said, gripping the coffee cup so hard that it bent a bit. He was the Commander of the Watch now, not a scared Lance Constable in a city that didn’t care if there was one more corpse in an alleyway at dawn. But some part of him, perhaps the part that was still that young Lance-Constable, hoped that the man knew that he couldn’t get away with assaulting him, not now.</p><p>“Of course, you’re not a part of the investigation,” Angua continued. “Seeing that you are one of his victims.”</p><p>“I didn’t write a report about that,” Vimes managed. “How do you know-“</p><p>“Nobby did it for you,” Angua said, looking at him with something strange in her expression. “You couldn’t write because Castle had broken too many of your fingers. The report from the surgeon that treated you was in that file. And Nobby and Colon remembered what you looked like when you got to the nick.”</p><p>“Lots of the more vulnerable Lance-Constables fled the city instead of risking being beaten up for ‘indecent behavior’” Vimes mused. “Especially after Castle worked me over.”</p><p>Angua was silent.</p><p>“Half the locker room was empty when I could see out of my eyes again,” Vimes kept going. “My mum knew that I liked…all kinds of people, not just girls and was supportive. Not everybody had that.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Angua said.</p><p>“That’s not our city anymore,” Vimes said. “If I’m called to talk in court about what happened, I’ll do it. He can’t be allowed to get away with this, he shouldn’t have been in the first place.”</p><p>“The city will kill him dead,” Angua assured him as she halted in front of the steps that led to the Patrician’s Palace. “And it will do it publicly, in the light.”</p><p>“Good,” Vimes said, saluting.</p><p>Angua saluted back, grinning.</p><p>Then she turned on her heel and stalked back towards the Yard.</p><p> </p><p>The anteroom was the same as it had always been, so Vimes got comfortable with his new romance novels and let himself be comforted by the fact that even if the couple would get into a heap of trouble, there would get their happy endings.</p><p>Romance novels that did not end happily or at least the couple was happy for the time being were not the real thing and Vimes had thrown a decent number of such books out of windows in his time.</p><p>It was only when he’d finished his coffee and Drumknott coughed politely that Vimes looked up from his book. He stuffed his empty rubber cup into his bag, since it could be washed and used again.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Vimes,” Vetinari said, putting down a folder as soon as Vimes closed the door behind him. “My apologies for interrupting your day off.</p><p>“My lord,” Vimes replied, saluting out of sheer habit.</p><p>He put down his bag, which was by now filled with books, knitting supplies and an overnight bundle (including a flower-pattern nightshirt that Vimes supposed had once belonged to someone in Sybil’s family) as well as a spare shirt. And now the cup was in there too, probably getting tangled in the yarn.</p><p>Vimes looked at the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled together. It was a sight he’d seen a hundred thousand times before, filed away every variation of it there was.</p><p>And yet he felt it was the first time.</p><p>He could sense the endless spider web of ideas, stone and wood and employees and citizens that made the city what it was all around them. So solid and yet so fragile. To be wiped away carelessly if you did it in just the right way.</p><p>After all, Vimes had seen it happen. He’d seen how decision after decision made in the other timeline had snowballed into something else, remaking the city into something that must once have been a fragile dream.</p><p>And now he was back home in his own world, shaken to his core and watching as the carefully neutral smile on Vetinari’s face faded into an expression of concern. It had only been hours since Vimes had returned back home.</p><p>But over here, Vetinari was still here in the Oblong Office, having spread power wide and far. Vimes and the Watch, Lipwig and the railway, the bank, the post office and De Worde with the Times. And the Guilds, working properly for the city. Now the city owned the tyrant, ever since Vimes had arrested Vetinari for treason, they had known that it was possible to throw the boss in the cells and shut the door.</p><p>Vimes had heard of people getting into the Oblong Office not by appointment, but by bringing pies and expressing concern about city matters.</p><p>Power, not in one place but distributed like cinnamon sugar over the dough of the city.</p><p>And further on, as Vetinari was no longer just throwing Vimes at problems, or Lipwig or others. Vimes had recognized him just fine as Stoker Blake, fighting people off with a shovel and leaving the city in the hands of the people (and Charlie parked in his chair in the Oblong Office).</p><p>He’d never have been able to do that before. Certainly not with civil war breathing down their necks, nor a dragon. And definitely not when he’d been stuck in a glass jar after having been turned into a lizard.</p><p>The railway had been built, and now Vetinari was not only focused on the city, but on helping other towns and countries as well. Leaving behind his total control (and illusion of total control) over events.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s good to have you back, Vimes,” Vetinari said, standing up from his chair. “You were gone for over a day. The wizards were starting to lose hope that you’d ever get back-“</p><p>“Oh,” Vimes said, seeing how Vetinari’s legs shook so badly that Vetinari had to lean on the desk to be able to keep standing.</p><p>Vimes fought the urge to rush to him, to grab him by the arm to hold him steady.</p><p>“We searched the city, high and low, for you-“ Vetinari said, sounding far too exhausted. The concealer covering up how dark the bags underneath his eyes were had been smudged, or the rain hammering on the windows might have cleaned it off. “All the Watch Houses, alleyways-“</p><p>“You went out to look for me?” Vimes asked, blinking.</p><p>He saw the white-knuckled grip Vetinari had on the cane, the way his shoulders were set so to keep himself upright.</p><p>“Certainly,” Vetinari said as Vimes stepped closer to him without thinking, offering his arm. “We could not be sure that the storm had taken you away, or if you had been injured too badly to be able to get back to safety.”</p><p>Vetinari took his arm, his fingers digging into Vimes’s bicep.</p><p>“Well, you’ve found me now,” Vimes said, walking slowly to the sofa so that they could both sit down.</p><p>“Did time pass differently, where you were?” Vetinari asked, his pace slow and his breathing far too measured.</p><p>“Two weeks, over there,” Vimes said, looking Vetinari in the eye. He knew that he should avert them, or at least look at the wall like he’d trained himself to do. But he could not bring himself to tear his eyes away from Vetinari’s light blue eyes, now that he’d gotten used to actually looking at them.</p><p>“Ah,” Vetinari said, raising his chin a little bit.</p><p>The gulf between them should have been endless. Vimes fought the urge to close his eyes, then stomp over to their bedroom in Vetinari’s quarters and go to sleep. But that wasn’t his bed anymore. Or his bedroom.</p><p>There would be no fancy shirts and regular ones hanging neatly in the closet, no socks or trousers.</p><p>This Vetinari did not love him back.</p><p>This was not his other home.</p><p>And yet his lordship was not looking at him as if he was just a useful cog in a much grander machine.</p><p>“That is a long time, Commander,” Vetinari said, leaning on him even more.</p><p>Commander. A proper title. Better to be called that than Vimes, now. He wasn’t sure if his body wouldn’t just fall to the floor if he’d been called that instead of Sam, at this moment.</p><p>Vimes nodded.</p><p>All these promotions and rewards, all this time, to be close to being Vetinari’s equal. But only after he’d proven that he’d arrest him for treason, just like anyone else, showing everyone that Vetinari had to deal with the consequences of his actions because he had the freedom to make the choices that he made.</p><p>Stripping him of his sky-high arrogance, of his earlier tendency to think of people as things, as machines that could be twisted and turned until they did what they were supposed to do. He’d been crowbarred into thinking differently and that had taken some adjusting to.</p><p>These days, he could throw someone as unpredictable as Lipwig into a situation and watch it go nuclear, before he’d played it far safer with resurrecting more predictable folks who’d do their jobs effectively.</p><p>He’d watched Vimes change and evolve throughout the years, building up the Watch and solving case after case. He’d have daily meeting these days, where there was still a certain amount of manipulation and creative misunderstandings, but they actually understood each other and communicated instead of what they had been doing before.</p><p>“Do sit down, Vimes,” the Patrician was saying, motioned to the sofa with his cane. Vimes supposed that it was easier to let those who wanted to believe that his cane was more of a decoration than a mobility device to continue to do so. Better too.</p><p>And it could be useful in other ways, such as whacking people over the head with it should the occasion call for it.</p><p>He could hear the worry deep beneath the ever-present neutral tone. And that made him angry. He had no business knowing how to read such a thing in the Patrician’s voice. They were not married, they never had been, they never would be.</p><p>What they were, was a team.</p><p>An efficient one, when they were both functioning well.</p><p>His knowledge of the Patrician’s habits, disabilities and personal matters ran far deeper than it ever should have done. And besides, it was not like it was all accurate.</p><p>For one, Vetinari did not have any feelings for him.</p><p>And if he did, they were based on how best to utilize him in the service of the city.</p><p>Right?</p><p> </p><p>Vimes sat down slowly, aware of just how closely Vetinari was standing to him, how observant the man was. Vetinari sat down beside him, a bit too heavily.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Vimes said, not sure if he was trying to reassure himself or Vetinari, who hadn’t yet picked up his medical bag, but nonetheless looked inches away from doing so. “I just got sick and fell down the stairs, hitting my head on the wall. The other Lord Vetinari made me rest properly-“</p><p>“The effects of a concussion can linger for some time,” Vetinari said, sounding like a scholar instead of a tyrant. “And time-travel is bound to increase the sense of disorientation…”</p><p>“Sure,” Vimes said. “And nausea, mood changes and headaches and I should make sure to sit down whenever I feel faint or overtired out of the blue. The other Vetinari was very…insistent that I look after my health. Then I fell on the floor of my office when I returned back home- “</p><p>“May I?” Vetinari asked, holding up his hands a few inches away from Vimes’s head.</p><p>Vimes looked up at them for a second, wanting to bolt.</p><p>But then he remembered that whenever Vetinari had touched him before, it had been in a safe manner. A hand on his shoulder in a show of support, or holding tightly onto his arm because his leg was not behaving well on that particular day.</p><p>“Yeah,” Vimes said. “Alright.”</p><p>Vetinari’s fingers slid through his short, greying hair. There were silver ones in there, Vimes knew, not just grey ones. And they didn’t make him look dignified like Vetinari. They just made him look like an aging dog.</p><p>He tried not to sigh, or lean into the touch.</p><p>And utterly failed when Vetinari’s thumb stroked the shell of his ear, his other hand cupping the back of his head. Vimes closed his eyes as Vetinari hummed something underneath his breath, a warm if bony hand resting on Vimes’s neck.</p><p>He could remember how it felt like to have Vetinari’s lips pressed against his cheek, his hands deftly unbuttoning his shirt. And he knew that this was not the touch of a man that only thought of him as a bull in a shop full of delicate things. This was the touch of a man that loved him back.</p><p>Vimes opened his eyes, looking back at the Patrician, right in the eyes.</p><p>“Vimes?” Vetinari asked, stepping closer after a minute or two of utter silence.</p><p>“Hm?” Vimes said, not moving and feeling too comfortable to be careful. “Yes, Havelock?”</p><p> Vetinari did not let go of him, nor did Vimes pull away. Instead Vetinari looked at Vimes’s hand, where for a brief moment there gleamed three rings, there and gone again, a physical manifestation of Vimes not having shifted gears internally to being in this timeline.</p><p>Vetinari was staring at the rings, both eyebrows raised to the sky.</p><p>Well, he better start explaining things.</p><p>“The other Vimes was almost dead soon after I showed up, sir,” Vimes said. “Too many arrows to the chest, for one thing. But what was slowly killing him is the same thing that’s going to bring me down. My liver is in worse condition, since I drank far longer than he ever did. And it’s better to be prepared for the end, in any case. You know that, you’re an Assassin. They put him in the hospital and I...I stepped in for him, taking on all his roles.”</p><p>“Vimes-“</p><p>“My knees and hips are shit, sir,” Vimes said. “My lungs are a mess and my heart is not exactly in good condition. And I’m sure I shaved quite a few years off my life over the course of my career, making sure that the city would be…safer than it had been when we were young. If Castle had actually assaulted me again now, I’m not sure I’d be here with you.”</p><p>“Good that he didn’t, then,” Vetinari said, his hand now resting on the place where Vimes’s neck met his shoulder. “Why did he attack you in the first place?”</p><p>Vimes breathed out.</p><p>“There was a very dashing gentleperson on the rooftop near the Treacle Mine Road Watch House” Vimes said slowly. “Forty years ago, on Grune fifth, around midnight. Had on a very nice green dress. And Sergeant Castle saw me looking at them.”</p><p>“Looking at someone in an admiring manner is not criminal behavior,” Vetinari said. “There was no reason for Sergeant Castle to act as he did, breaking your bones and lantern because of his own hatred of people that are different from him.”</p><p>Vimes had never mentioned that his lantern had broken.</p><p>Not to Nobby, not even to his mum.</p><p>He thought of the figure on the rooftop, graceful and removed from life on the cobblestones.</p><p>“No idea who they were, of course,” Vimes said, carefully. Giving Vetinari an out, if he wanted one. “Seen glimpses of them throughout the years. That’s a person that’s aged like fine wine, if you ask me.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yes,” Vimes said as Vetinari stoked a thumb over the patch of skin that was not covered by his red neckerchief or his shirt.</p><p>“What did he say when my officers asked about his motives?” Vimes said, keeping very still.</p><p>“Castle was very adamant that we should, as a city, go back to more traditional ways of behavior,” Vetinari said. “But that is not the way a city works. There is only the forward motion. None of us is going back.”</p><p>“You don’t want to put on heaps of black silk that brushes the floors when you walk?” Vimes asked, his breath hitching. “Old Stoneface even drew a picture of the robes that the chief advisor to the king used to wear on a daily basis.”</p><p>He’d made a note about how difficult these were to clean properly, for some reason.</p><p>“Now, there is an idea,” Vetinari said. “But I’m afraid that those robes are rather a bother to take off. So many layers.”</p><p>“Silk dresses are better,” Vimes said as Vetinari slowly untied his neckerchief, slow enough that Vimes could stop him at any moment. Vimes did not. Instead he bared his neck, giving Vetinari better access. “Even with all the buttons…”</p><p>“I do have a few dresses,” Vetinari said, dropping the cloth on Vimes’s lap. “For wearing at home.”</p><p>“I know,” Vimes gasped, glad that the neckerchief was covering some specific parts of him. “The other Vetinari wore them too, out in public. You could do that too, if you wanted.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Vetinari said, hand tracing Vimes’s neck. “I might just do that. It is, after all, a modern and inclusive city that we live in.”</p><p>“It is,” Vimes said as Vetinari scooted closer so that he was almost in Vimes’s lap.</p><p>“May I?” Vetinari asked, hands on the buckles that secured the breastplate.</p><p>“Yes,” Vimes said, covering Vetinari’s hands with his own when the man began to pull away. “Please, help me get all the armor off.”</p><p>The breastplate ended up on the floor, just as the chainmail shirt and the badge.</p><p>And then Vimes was standing in front of him in nothing but his shirt and trousers and boots, his heart hammering loudly in his ears and Vetinari leaning back and watching him as if he’d wandered into restaurant serving nothing but delicious food.</p><p>Vimes sat back down on the sofa before he could start smoothing out his shirt over his stomach, or wondering if his drawers were digging into his sides. Before he could despair at the fact that his thighs spread when he sat down or start making apologies.</p><p>He breathed out slowly until he could hear his own thoughts again.</p><p>“All is well?” Vetinari asked, looking right into his eyes. “Because if it isn’t-“</p><p>“No, no, it’s just…new,” Vimes said, swallowing. “Sybil is very fine with all this. We’ve had some talks, over the years.”</p><p>“She has made that clear to me, as well,” Vetinari said, leaning back in his seat. “Repeatedly.”</p><p>“We are married, over there,” Vimes explained, gesturing at the window to try to indicate the other timeline. “The three of us. So, I had a bit of a crash course in how that worked.”</p><p>“And did it work?” Vetinari asked, looking like he was willing to crowbar the entire Disc into behaving , into doing better.</p><p>“It did,” Vimes said, drinking in the delighted twist of a smile on Vetinari’s face. “One step after the other seemed to be the charm. Our children are very intelligent and charming. I blame you both for that.”</p><p>“Hm,” Vetinari said with a smile that was so bright that Vimes felt the need to shield his eyes. “Can I kiss you now, Commander?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Vimes said, still barely believing that he’d somehow managed to get to this step.</p><p>And then they were kissing, Vetinari’s lips against his, hands cupping his jaw as Vetinari deepened the kiss. Vimes moaned, pulling Vetinari so close that he was in fact in his lap. Their noses bumped and teeth got in the way at first, but then they fit together very well indeed after a few more tries. These were not kisses from a man that just wanted to fuck him to get it over with, so that they could keep working. These were kisses that spoke of years of yearning between two people that had been in love for a very long time.</p><p>Vimes buried his hands in Vetinari’s soft hair, much shorter than he’d grown used to. He breathed in the scent of expensive soap and the faintest hint of lavender, no doubt from the multitude creams that Vetinari used.</p><p>“Not the sides?” Vetinari asked when his hands hand lingered on them and Vimes had pulled away.</p><p>“Just… touch them gently,” Vimes said. “I’m not injured. But I don’t like them very much.”</p><p>The Patrician hummed, as if filing this away as ‘concerning facts about the Commander of the Watch.’ That mental filing cabinet had to be quite a sight.</p><p>“You can say no, you know that, don’t you?” Vetinari said. “You don’t have to force yourself to do anything that you don’t like.”</p><p>“I know,” Vimes reassured him. “It’s a work-in-progress part of recovering from…an eating disorder. Maybe several versions of it. I’m learning to accept that this is what I look like, and not to keep thinking that it would be better to go back to when I was…actually thin.”</p><p>“I see,” Vetinari said with the voice of a man who had many discussions with Sybil about how people who did not look a certain way were treated in society.</p><p>“You’ll have to keep an eye on me, sometimes,” Vimes said, slowly. “Because I tend to slip up. But you’re used to that.”</p><p>“I’ll have Drumknott bring you coffee and a biscuit when you’re looking out of sorts, for a start,” Vetinari said. “I’ve noticed how you tend to leave parties by climbing out the window without letting anyone know when or where you are going-“</p><p>“People make ugly comments,” Vimes said. “And I’m not as eloquent as you and I’d arrest half the city if I started doing it whenever someone is an arsehole about disabled people.”</p><p>“Speaking of that,” Vetinari said. “Do you want to relocate to the bedroom?”</p><p>He patted his leg.</p><p>“I need to take some medication, and I fear that my leg is not going to support me much tomorrow if I stay on this sofa for very long.”</p><p>“Of course,” Vimes said, standing up.</p><p>“I’ve told Drumknott to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day,” Vetinari said, his hand resting on his leg where the scar was located. “Sitting in that chair over there all day is murder on the joints.”</p><p>“I can only imagine,” Vimes said, who spent most of his time out on the streets if he could help it.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled Vetinari up from the sofa in one motion, then swept him up in his arms and carried him into the bedroom like a bride, leaving his armor behind in a fit of defiance. It was not the time to carry him over the shoulder like a potato sack, even if that would have been fun and given Vimes a good view of his backside.</p><p>Vetinari looked openly delighted at being carried like this.</p><p>Vimes put him down in the light wheelchair by the wardrobe in the bedroom, looking around at the rails by the bed and the spare canes in the umbrella stand by the chair. There was a pair of crutches there too, as well as a strange kind of mattress on the floor that Vimes supposed was a part of Vetinari’s physical therapy equipment.</p><p>Vetinari wheeled himself into the bathroom after collecting his medicine box from the nightstand drawer.</p><p>Vimes had brought his overnight bag into the bedroom and made himself comfortable on the bed with his romance novel, content with the idea of a refreshing nap when the door to the bathroom opened and Vetinari wheeled himself to the bed, wrapped up in a long black silk robe.</p><p>His hair was damp as he stood up with some difficulty, the scent of mint lotion and soap surrounding him like a cloak. Water dripped down on Vetinari’s neck from his hair, running down his chest.</p><p>Vimes’s mouth went dry when Vetinari untied the belt of the black silk robe, which then slid off his shoulders to reveal delicate lace underwear. These were very much not the long-sleeved linen nightshirt and warm drawers that Vimes wore in winter, rolled up in his duvet like a cigar. He looked down at the flower pattern on his nightshirt and then back at what Lord Vetinari was wearing, looking like a delicacy.</p><p>“Look at you,” Vimes heard himself say, not tearing his eyes away from Vetinari for a second. The holsters that held the stilettos were still strapped to Vetinari’s body, otherwise Vetinari would not relax nor sleep, Vimes had learned over the course of two weeks in the other time-line. “Come over here.”</p><p>Vetinari smiled, all teeth.</p><p>As soon as Vetinari had sat down on the bed, he pulled Vimes closer and crushed their mouths together. Vimes kissed him back, hands running over the bare skin of Vetinari’s back. He luxuriated in it, in how his calloused fingers found scars and traced shoulder blades and the leather of the holster straps.</p><p>They kissed until they had to part for breath.</p><p>Vetinari undid the buttons of Vimes’s nightshirt, kissing his neck and collarbones so hard that Vimes was sure that there would be bruises in the morning.</p><p>“Look at you,” Vetinari told Vimes, who felt the blush on his cheeks burn even brighter as Vetinari lay down beside him, then pulled him close until they were spooning.</p><p>“Why am I always the little spoon?” Vimes asked as Vetinari kissed the shell of his ear, one hand securely holding Vimes’s hip. Vimes could feel the bulge in Vetinari’s fancy underwear press against his backside.</p><p>“Because you love it,” Vetinari said, slowly raising the hem of the nightshirt, his fingers brushing against Vimes’s thighs. “And you are much shorter than I am.”</p><p>“I’m not that short.”</p><p>“Small and portable,” Vetinari argued, his breath hot against Vimes’s ear. “And so very useful.”</p><p>“Is that why you keep throwing me at all those problems that come up?” Vimes asked, breath shuddering when Vetinari kissed the back of his neck.</p><p>“Hm,” Vetinari said, smiling against the skin of Vimes’s back.</p><p>“You just think I’m short because you are like a broomstick,” Vimes grumbled.</p><p>“Mm,” Vetinari said, downright stroking over Vimes’s soft belly as he pulled up the nightshirt, rolling his hips just so. “Very versatile, you mean?”</p><p>The nightshirt was gone, Vimes could feel the cool air on his skin. His drawers were a stained mess by now.</p><p>“Tall and striking?” Vetinari continued before kissing Vimes’s shoulder, his hand spread on Vimes’s thigh.</p><p>Vimes took his hand and put it over the bulge in his drawers, hearing the shudder in the Patrician’s breath when Vimes kept his hand over his.</p><p>“Troublesome,” Vimes said. “Hard to steer, sure. But a good investment, especially if you want to clean up the place.”</p><p>“Ah, Sam,” Vetinari said, palming Vimes’s cock through the fabric of his sensible drawers. Then he stroked him slowly, listening to every moan and sigh Vimes made with the patience of a man that had waited for this moment for a long, long time. “Think about all the trouble we could get into together.”</p><p>Vimes arched into his touch as he slid the drawers down and got to work.</p><p>“Yes,” Vimes breathed, feeling Vetinari’s cock against his ass as the man stroked him, fingers caressing the skin between his thighs before pushing them apart so he’d have more room. Vimes’s vision was going black at the edges, his body thrumming with desire. “So much trouble.”</p><p>Then they were both shuddering against each other, breathing hard.</p><p>When Vimes could breathe properly again, his heart no longer hammering in his chest, he got up and wandered to the bathroom. He washed his sweaty hands and face with soap, looking at his dark-red cheeks and blown-out pupils in the mirror. His hair was as much a mess as it could be and there were dark love bites on his neck.</p><p>He found two small hand-towels and soaked both in warm water before winding them. He cleaned himself up there and then, throwing the hand towel into a laundry basket.</p><p>Vetinari was sprawled out on the bed like a starfish, looking like something out of a painting instead of a mess.</p><p>Vimes cleaned him up without much fuss, untying the laces of his underwear first and throwing that as well as the towel into a much larger laundry basket than the one that lived in the bathroom. He turned around to fetch something fresh for Vetinari to wear, finding a purple nightgown in the closet, which he threw on the bed.</p><p>When he’d put on his nightshirt and crawled back to bed, Vetinari was massaging his thigh with a lavender-scented lotion and then stretching his arms and back.</p><p>“Now we’re going to nap,” Vimes said, picking up the nightgown and presenting it to Vetinari as if it was a grand gift.</p><p>“I have work to do,” Vetinari said, stretching his neck so that Vimes heard something crack.</p><p>“And the city will still be here in twenty minutes,” Vimes said, patting the bed. “Besides, you need to be rested for the secret trip we are going on next Sunday.”</p><p>Vetinari stared at him.</p><p>“That is around a week away from now,” Vetinari said.</p><p>Vimes was silent.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Vetinari asked suspiciously.</p><p>“I could not tell you that we are going to a new Brindisian café downtown, even if you begged me to tell you, because it is a secret,” Vimes said. “And I certainly could not inform you that Sybil and I are also going to be there at around four in the afternoon.”</p><p>“I see,” Vetinari said, putting the nightgown on.</p><p>“We don’t have to have Plan B or Plan Q in place, these days,” Vimes said, making himself comfortable. “Not with people like Castle being locked away. Brindisi has come to us, so I can park you and Sybil in chairs in the sun and buy you all the fast coffee you’d like…”</p><p>“Indeed,” Vetinari said, glancing at him with an oddly careful look in his eyes. “Do you have a plan in mind?”</p><p>Vimes adjusted the covers, his eyes already too heavy to observe that Lord Vetinari had slid beneath the duvet as well.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Vimes asked, too tired not to be direct.</p><p>“How did we…court each other over there?” Vetinari asked, sounding oddly unsure of himself. As if the man hadn’t been courting him for years now. Not falling in love with Vetinari had been an exercise in futility as soon as they’d started flirting properly with each other. "How did we marry?"</p><p>“We got engaged so fast,” Vimes said, gesturing between the two of them, barely opening his eyes. “Then again, you fell through the roof of my house onto my bed, where I was naked because I’d just showered after my shift. My mum came in and immediately observed that you must have been my young man. Not getting engaged at 16 would have been scandalous.”</p><p>“And I didn’t even turn around when I heard your lantern go out,” Vetinari said. “I thought it was just a scuffle among watchmen and kept running.”</p><p>“You didn’t know,” Vimes said, patting his arm. “And I had no clue who you were, on that rooftop. We ended up here anyway, even if it took us a hell of a lot longer.”</p><p>He opened his eyes to see that Vetinari was looking very philosophical.</p><p>But he didn’t say anything for a long time, just adjusted the covers far more than was strictly necessary.</p><p>“You and Sybil are the big picture people on the team, dear,” Vimes said, not moving away the slightest when Vetinari wrapped an arm around him. “If you want a state wedding one day, you’ll be the one planning it. But I’m not running away to another city to marry.”</p><p>“Understood,” Vetinari said. “I’ll move some appointments so that we can go to the café-“</p><p>“Now, go to sleep,” Vimes said, closing his eyes again. “Not all of us can thrive on four hours a night.”</p><p>Only a few minutes later, when Vetinari’s breathing had evened out and he was out like a light, Vimes allowed himself to sink into his dreams of a brighter future.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember to leave a review, gentle reader!</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091190">A Place That Never Moves Fanart</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikyoShotFirst/pseuds/KikyoShotFirst">KikyoShotFirst</a>
    </li>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091190">A Place That Never Moves Fanart</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikyoShotFirst/pseuds/KikyoShotFirst">KikyoShotFirst</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
</html>